


Requiem for Snow

by bluetoast



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural Novels - Various
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 209,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1320010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The January before he went to Hell, Dean and his brother Sam faced the Last Calusa in Key West, Florida. Following the defeat of this ancient curse, the brothers left, barreling straight into their destiny and the inevitable showdown against Lilith and her minions. But what they assumed was just another hunt was actually a key part in the plans of the Apocalypse. A plan not laid by the powers below, but by the ones up above.</p><p>This story follows canon up to Changing Channels - sort of. It then borrows from the rest of Season 5 at random.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> This story has almost no regard for mythological canon.

There never seemed to be good news anymore. No one could really pinpoint the date it started, but it was as if the world woke up one day, and everything was going to Hell. The hand-basket seemed to be optional at this point. Heather Kittredge, all of thirteen years old – was very aware that teachers avoided the subject of current events the same way they avoided the accuracy in movies about World War II. There were the horrid events from this past spring – the most frightening of which had to be the teacher who locked a classroom door and killed sixty-six students. What kind of crazy, messed up, nut-job did you have to be to do something like that? She'd been to young in two-thousand and one to really understand the nightmare behind the September eleventh attacks, but she could remember her mother crying. The only explanation that her father could give his five year old was that 'there were really bad people in this world.' 

She stuffed her history book into her backpack and slammed her locker shut. “Whoever thought assigning homework over Thanksgiving Break was acceptable obviously didn't suffer from a procrastination disorder.” She groaned and pulled her coat on. “Or is under the delusion that homework actually keeps kids out of trouble.” After tossing her bag over her shoulder, she hurried outside towards the buses. The last she wanted to do was walk the six miles home with a full backpack. 

Jasper, Indiana was rated one of the best small towns in America to live in – the population wasn't even close to fifteen-thousand. She and her parents had moved here to get away from the hustle and bustle of Indianapolis. That had been this past summer and Heather was still adjusting. The rest of the kids in her class had known each other almost their entire lives, even though her class contained the combination of three elementary schools. 

She found an empty seat and tossed her bag down and then slumped in next to it. “I really, really hope that two-thousand ten is better than two-thousand nine.”

“I see you're an optimist.” The girl in front of her turned around and grinned. “You're Heather Kittredge, right?”

“Yeah.” She squinted for a moment. “You're Molly Babcock, aren't you?”

“One and only.” She folded her arms on the seat back, her smile remaining. “You should talk more... most of the kids in our class think you're pretty aloof.”

“It's not intentional.” She pulled her pack into her lap and scooted over to make room as the bus started to fill up. “It's... not easy being the new girl.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Nothing ever happens in this town.” She said as a girl sat down next to her. “Hey, Lila.”

“It's cruel that they give us homework for this long weekend... I mean, couldn't they wait a week?” 

“Tell me about it.” Heather replied. 

“Lila, you know Heather, right?” 

The other girl turned around, shoving her blue hat back to take a better look. “Yeah, we're in the same math class.”

“Hey guys.” Another girl sat down next to Heather. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all.” She thought for a moment. “Beth, isn't it?”

“Yup.” She focused back on Molly. “Sorry I didn't get to tell you earlier, my mom said it's okay for me to come over on Friday. All I have to do is watch my little brother all day while she heads down to Owensboro to do some Christmas shopping.”

“Is your brother coming home for the holiday?” Lila asked.

“No, it's to far. I swear, I thought dad was going to have a coronary when he said he was going to the University of Nebraska.” Beth replied. 

Molly looked from her friends and then back to Heather. “Hey, you're not going back to Indianapolis for Thanksgiving, are you?”

“No...” She shifted in her seat. “Why?”

“Well, Beth and Lila are coming over to my house on Friday for a slumber party... you want to come?”

She blinked in response. She'd not been invited over to anyone's house for anything in nearly three years. “Sounds like fun... I'd love to come.”

“Give me your phone number so my mom can call yours.” She pulled a notebook out of her bag. 

“Do I need to bring anything – I mean, aside from the usual sleeping bag and such?” She scrawled her number on the offered sheet of paper.

“Just your appetite... my mom is big into cooking. I swear, it's some kind of German heritage thing.”

“She's also an excellent cook.” Lila added. “My mom thinks home cooking is something out of a Stouffer's box.” She shut her eyes. “It makes me glad we go over to grandma's for Thanksgiving dinner. No one seems to mind that we bring frozen pies... as long we bring plenty of Cool-Whip to go with it.”

“How big of a family gathering do you have?” Heather asked. 

“Tons.” She replied. “My family is scattered over the state, but they all come to my grandparents house for Thanksgiving – I'm going to be so sick of football by Friday night, I don't want to hear a word about it.”

Lila went on an extended rant of how her cousins completely commandeered the television, since there were five more guys than girls and how she and another cousin usually took the smallest kids to the local park to keep them out from underfoot. Heather would have liked to have known what that was like, honestly. Her family consisted of a handful of people not speaking to one another. They used to get along, heck, they used to be a close-knit family that got together nearly every holiday. She wasn't entirely sure of what had happened, but had the inkling it had to do with the fact that almost four years ago, her cousin Eva had vanished – after killing her fiancée – or rather, she was suspected of killing the poor guy. They still hadn't found her – half the family believed her guilty and the other innocent. Heather and her parents fell into the earlier category – while everyone else was in the later.

“Hey, Kittredge, isn't this your stop too?” Beth's voice brought her out of her musings. 

“Oh... yeah.” She stood up. “See you two later.” She said to Lila and Molly and followed Beth out of the bus. 

“You okay?” They started down the sidewalk together. “You looked a little lost there for a few minutes.”

“Sorry about that...” She kicked absently at a rock on the path. “I'm okay.”

“It'll be a lot of fun on Friday, okay? I mean, you went to slumber parties with your friends back in the city, right?”

“Not recently.” She chuckled weakly. “Kind of hard, I've been all the way out here.” She didn't want to admit the real reason just yet.

“Hey, there's nothing to be worried about... this town is to small for there to be any vampires and it's to big for zombies.” She laughed. 

“There's no such thing as either of those.”

“True. But you know, thinking movie and book wise...”

“Well, if there were such a thing as either... I'm willing to bet there's enough people in this town who know how to use a shotgun and a chainsaw to eliminate such a problem...not to mention about every other house around here has a backyard fire pit.”

Beth threw back her head and laughed and clapped Heather around the shoulders in a familiar hug. “You got that right, city girl.”

“I'll just have to defend myself with an Exact-O knife or something...I have a really nice pair of scissors too...”

“I wouldn't want to get that close.” 

“Me neither.” They came to Heather's house. “I'll see you in a few. Have a Happy Thanksgiving.”

“You too.” She waved as she continued on up the sidewalk. 

She went up onto the porch, retrieved the mail and let herself into the house. “Mom? You home?”

“Hi, sweetie, how was your day?”

“Not bad.” She hung her coat up in the hall closet and went down towards the kitchen, where Sarah Kittredge was tearing a loaf of bread into chunks. “Starting on tomorrow's dinner already?”

“I know it's just the three of us, but it's still quite the task.” She smiled. “Wash up, I could use your help.”

“Sure thing. Let me put my bag away too.” She headed back towards the hallway. “Oh, a Mrs. Babcock is supposed to call... her daughter is in my class and she invited me over Friday night.”

“You made a friend?” Sarah smile broadened. “That's wonderful!”

“Yeah... it only took me four months...” She shrugged and went back to put her things away.

****

“You know what makes Thanksgiving great, Sammy?” Dean Winchester asked his brother as they drove along Interstate Twenty-Nine.

“Let me guess.” Sam replied in a dry tone. “The pie.”

“Exactly.” He replied. “Any holiday that requires the consumption of pie as a part of it is a great holiday.” Of course, Dean couldn't remember if he'd ever had the whole Thanksgiving meal before that hadn't come from either a frozen dinner or a fast-food place. The only constant had been pumpkin pie – and it had usually been the only thing that tasted good. 

“I don't know what's more pathetic.” Sam rubbed his forehead. “The fact that you're obsessing over pie, or the fact that it's taken us this long to have a traditional dinner... or as traditional as it gets in our line of work.”

“So it will probably be a meal courtesy of Boston Market.” Dean shrugged. “It beats a meal courtesy of Swanson's or McDonald's.” 

“Not mention Bobby's place sounds better than a hotel.” He leaned back and frowned slightly as it started to snow. He and his brother had been tracking down leads that seemed to continually go nowhere on the location of the Colt. All that had happened in the course of November was their third encounter with the Trickster, who turned out not to be a demigod at all, but actually the archangel Gabriel. He, like several other angels the brothers had come across wanted them to accept their roles in the Apocalypse so that the Apocalypse could end. Of course, Gabriel wasn't all for the paradise on Earth thing as much as he was for his brothers to cease fighting. It would take just one last fight for it all to end. Sam wasn't entirely sure about Dean – but he'd rather kill himself than to say 'yes' to Lucifer. 

“Don't think about it.” His brother's voice cut into his thoughts. 

“I'm trying not to.” Sam replied.

“Bobby said that he invited Jo and Ellen over for the holiday too – but he doesn't know if they're coming.”

“Where have they been, did he say?”

“Somewhere out in Oregon... I don't remember the name of the town.”

“It's been quiet lately.” 

“I'm not complaining.” He swerved the Impala into the passing lane and roared past an eighteen wheeler. “I can't remember the last time we actually weren't working a case on Thanksgiving.”

“Me neither.” Sam didn't want to mention the one November he'd not been on the road, back when he'd been invited to Jessica's house for dinner. If he was honest with himself, he thought about Jess less and less – certainly not as much as he used to. It used to be hourly – now the feeling only came around once a month. “Of course, I don't think they could get any worse than the one when I was six and you were ten.”

Dean grimaced. “Baloney sandwiches in the car while dad drove from Oklahoma all the way to North Carolina.” He sped past a dark blue minivan. “It wouldn't have been quite so bad if the bread hadn't been stale.”

“I don't think dad noticed that those old loaves had been set out by the store so that people could use it in their stuffing.” He glanced at the passing road sign that told them they were ten miles from Sioux Falls.

“There's one thing that has me a little confused.”

“One thing?” 

“Yeah. Cas said he'd rebelled against Heaven... so why didn't Gabriel kill him?”

“I don't know. Maybe he doesn't want to draw attention to himself... or he's just having to much fun watching Cas try and somehow divert this whole mess.”

“Maybe.” His next words were cut off by his cell-phone ringing. Checking the small display before answering, he clicked it on. “Hey Bobby.”

“Sam, where are you two?”

“Just coming into town, why?”

“Just heard from Ellen. She and Jo are on this side of Mitchell, so they're coming. You think you two can manage to pick up a few things from the store before you get here?”

“Sure.” He pulled a pen from a pocket inside his jacket, along with a small notebook. He quickly jotted down the items Bobby listed as Dean drove the car past another tractor trailer and then pulled back into the right lane. “See you in a few.” He clicked the phone off. “Jo and Ellen are going to be there. Bobby wants us to pick up a few things.”

“So we're looking at the first traditional Thanksgiving in...”

“I think we may as well just call this the first one... and pray it won't be the last.”

*  
It was snowing harder by the time Dean and Sam finally arrived at Bobby's house. Several of the rusting wrecked cars were already snowcapped, well on their way to getting buried. The ramp that now covered the stairs to the porch was covered in rock salt, serving the dual purpose of keeping demons out and keeping the ramp from icing over. After gathering their bags – a duffel, a backpack and two sacks of groceries each, they hurried into the house as the wind began to pick up. 

“Hope Jo and Ellen don't get trapped in this.” Dean said as they shut the door. 

“It's not so bad.” Bobby said, coming into the room. “I've seen much worse come much earlier.”

“Hey Bobby.” Sam put his grocery sack on the counter. The kitchen was probably the only room in the house with a few flat surfaces that weren't covered in books. “How have you been?”

“Good as can be expected.” He backed up his wheelchair so the two could put the rest of their bags down. “Any luck with the Colt?”

“No.” Dean said in a disgruntled voice as he took off his coat. “I'm starting to think the thing is gone... or all the way in Australia.”

****

The diner was dingy yet warm, the air pungent with the smell of fried onions and coffee. Castiel only stopped in this town somewhere in Texas because of a surge of power he had felt as he passed. Whoever it was wasn't bothering with hiding themselves. He slowly looked over the small room – a woman staring at a blank sheet of notebook paper, her dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes half finished next to her. At another table a truck driver was finishing a cup of coffee and checking weather conditions via his cell phone. The rest of the tables were empty and the only other patrons were two women sitting at the counter. One about twenty two years old, the other – the other was the person giving off the resonate of power. As he approached, he could hear the conversation the two were having in hushed tones.

“You really think I have a chance at this?”

“Of course you do – I mean, you already have the ticket to go.” 

“Yeah, but there will be so many people there...”

“Just be yourself and sing from your heart, that's all you have to do. No matter what that Simon Cowell nut-job says. The man isn't all that bright...a few years ago he accidentally flipped off the entire country on national television.” She gave the girl a one armed hug.

The younger girl chuckled. “Yeah. I remember that.” She shrugged into her jacket and tossed a ten dollar bill on the counter. “Happy Thanksgiving.” 

“You too.. and good luck.” She turned to follow the girl with her eyes as she left and then caught sight of Castiel. “Well there's something you don't see every day.” 

The angel frowned. “Melpomene.” He turned back towards the young girl who had left. “Who was that?”

The Greek Muse gave him the tiniest fraction of a smile. “That was one of American Idol two-thousand ten's top three finishers, Castiel.” 

“You remember me.”

“Of course I do, but it's been a while. The first performance of Handel's Messiah, if I recall correctly.” She turned back to the counter. “You want some coffee? They have great coffee here. You should try the pineapple upside down cake too.. it's the best in the state.”

Castiel didn't approve of the woman's familiarity. “What are you doing here Melpomene?” He stood next to her. 

“The same thing I'm always doing.” She took a sip of her own coffee as Castiel slowly sat down. “If you want to talk to my sister about the recent upsurge in Christian Rock music, I can give you her cellphone number.”

“No, I do not wish to speak with Polyhymnia.” He said nothing as the waitress put a glass of water and a menu in front of him. The silence continued while she cleaned up the plate left by the girl. 

“Probably a good thing... Polly's been busy.” The woman stretched her arms over her head. “Now what can I do for you, Castiel? You wouldn't have stopped if you hadn't had a reason.”

“You're not hiding your power.”

“I know that.” She brushed her pale hair out of her face. “But since so few can detect it, I really wasn't to concerned. The only one of your kind I've run into lately was Gabriel – he wanted to know the end of _Lost_.”

“ _Lost_? What is that?”

“You've been walking around Earth for year and a half and you've not heard of it?” She chuckled darkly. “It's a television show.” She shook her head. “I told him I was sorry I couldn't... I don't think there's been a show or anything of the like that has been so confusing since Hideaki Anno created _Neon Genesis Evangelion_.” She smiled as the waitress came back over.

“What can I get you?” She looked over her notepad at Castiel. “Coffee? Pie?”

“Just coffee.” He remained stoic as the woman took the menu and walked away. “I assume you know what is happening in the world.”

“The Apocalypse? Yes. I was way off on my guess... I thought it would be a few thousand years from now. Looks like I owe Hermes fifty drachma.”

“It can still be stopped, provided that God can be found.”

Melpomene grabbed her napkin and held it to her mouth as she attempted to swallow the coffee in her mouth. “Wait, you mean He didn't start this?”

“No.” He watched the woman splutter. “You didn't know that?”

She coughed and shook her head. “No. I'm not omnipotent, you know that. The whole reason the majority of my fellow pantheon members stay on Mount Olympus is because we don't want to be axed by a hunter...” She shrugged. “Those that can be killed anyway.”

“You are aware that if humanity dies, you will die too.”

“It will take a very long time for that to happen.” She shook her head. “I won't really die either – I'll just go back home and do what I used to do before humanity started doing something besides trying to survive. Though I think all I did then was sit and watch all my aunts and uncles fight.” She picked up her coffee mug. “You really should try the cake.”

“I do not require food.”

“I know. But whoever that is you're walking around in won't be at home to enjoy any food for Thanksgiving. Have some cake for him.” 

Castiel was quiet for a moment. He could not recall the last time he heard Jimmy Novak from somewhere deep in his mind. He wasn't even sure Jimmy was still there – odds were that Jimmy had been removed from his body entirely – and now Castiel was walking around in a body much the way that Anna was. “How is it that the Muse of Tragedy can be so light hearted?”

“In the darkness there's always a spark of light.” She drained the last of her coffee and tossed a few bills down on the counter before handing Castiel a ten. “For your coffee. Leave the lady a nice tip, she's got kids and it's almost Christmas.” She stood up. “Oh the joys of Nanowrimo. ” She shrugged into her coat and headed for the door. As she passed the woman staring at the blank notebook, her hand brushed through the woman's head, invisible to everyone else but her and Castiel.

As he watched, the woman picked up her pen and began to write. He swallowed and turned back around as the waitress came to clear more dishes away.

“You sure I can't get you anything else?” 

“I think I will try the cake. I've been told it's among the best.” 

“Coming right up.” 

**  
It was after dark by the time the Harvelles arrived at Bobby's. The snow had now turned several rusting cars into indistinguishable lumps of white and the Impala was well on the way to being covered as well. They had been racing the bad weather since they left Cody, Wyoming early this morning. Ellen drove their battered wagon next to Bobby's truck. “Looks like the boys got here first.”

She rubbed her face. “They only had to come up here from somewhere down in Iowa. I can't remember where...”

“Somewhere just east of Des Moines, I think...” They got out of the car and made their way through the snow and up the ramp, which appeared to have been freshly salted. “Doesn't seem like much of a Thanksgiving.”

“We're all still here, mom.” Jo was about to knock on the door when it opened. 

“Hey, Ellen, Jo. You made it.” Sam stepped aside to let them in.

“Sam. Where's your brother?”

“Doing laundry, of all things.”

“I was wonderin' when you girls were going to get here.” Bobby said, coming into the room.

“Hey, Bobby.” Ellen replied and came over to hug him. “Wouldn't have missed it.”

**

When Castiel arrived at the house in South Dakota, everyone was sleeping. As he stood motionless in the kitchen, he closed his eyes and sensed them one by one. Bobby Singer was snoring in his room, his sleep untroubled by dreams. Upstairs, Ellen Harvelle was sleeping peacefully, dreaming of a life she will never know – a life where she, her husband and daughter have nothing to fear. Jo is also dreaming, but a mere glance into them and the angel is reminded of what Dean calls 'personal space' and he shifts his gaze elsewhere. Sam Winchester sleeps on the longest couch in the house, but his feet still dangle over the side, resting on the floor. His snores are soft and even, unlike Singer's, which are heavy and broken. 

“Cas?” 

He opened his eyes. “Dean.” He replied as his gaze drifted towards him. “It's late.”

“I know that.” He made his way across the kitchen and sat down at the table, yawning. “Where have you been?”

“Texas.” He walked over to the table and sat down at the chair across from Dean. “Before that, I was in Brazil.”

“You look exhausted. You ever take a break?”

“No.” He blinked in the darkness. “Though just sitting for a while...would be welcome.”

He rubbed his eyes in response. “You find anything in Texas?”

“Not that I was looking for.” He blinked. “I... I ate something.”

“What?” The tiredness of Dean's voice was replaced with shock. 

“I ate something.”

“I'm aware of that... what was it?”

“Some kind of cake.” He blinked. “It was very...sweet.”

“What made you decide to try it?” Dean had been trying to convince the angel to eat something for months, but the best he had done was to get him to drink a beer and the occasional cup of coffee.

“Sometimes in seeking revelation... one finds inspiration in it's place.”

“Cas, are you feeling all right?”

“I don't have feelings, Dean.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I... am uncertain. You should be sleeping.”

“Nightmares.” He rubbed his eyes. “Just when I thought they'd finally ease up for a while.”

“Hell again.”

“No. It was something before I went there.”

Castiel glanced at him. “The Last Calusa.”

“It was awful.” He shuddered visibly. “Sometimes... I can still hear all those ghosts in my head. Only in the dream... they didn't want to leave...”

“It is over and done with, there is nothing to fear.”

“My subconscious mind would beg to differ.”

“I would suggest getting some rest, but that doesn't seem to be the best solution.”

Dean stood and retrieved a glass. “You want some water?”

“I don't...”

“I know, I know... I was just offering.” He came back to the table and set the glass down. “I also know that you wouldn't try cake on your own. You run in to Gabriel and he suggest you try it?”

“No.” The angel looked down at his hands, his mind going back to that diner. “An old... acquaintance told me to have some cake... as this vessel will not be home for Thanksgiving.”

“Acquaintance? I thought the angels were all after you.”

“She wasn't an angel.” He lifted his head. “Though to some people she might be... the only members of the Greek Pantheon who still continually walk the earth are the nine Muses. I have only met three of them.”

“A Muse huh?” Dean took a long sip of water. “They don't worry about hunters then?”

“They cannot be killed.” Castiel his arm so that it was resting on the table. “They are creative forces – and you cannot kill creativity anymore than you can kill death.”

“I'll take your word for it.” He yawned. “I can't say I've ever met a Muse.”

“Dean...” The angel's voice became lighter and he nearly smiled. “If you'd met one... you most certainly would remember her.”

****

The shadow slipped under doorways and flew unseen down the hallways of the school. The pungent scent of Lysol seeped from the floors, the doors, everywhere. It did not affect him, it did not stop him. He slid seamlessly under another door, praying that at last, his search would be over. How many of these places had he been? It was harder to do without a vessel – in the past month, he'd taken over the body of enough principals and teachers that he had lost count. 

Before they raised Death, they would raise Famine. 

The shadow formed over a computer and it flickered on. Student records flew past his gaze as he searched for what he desperately prayed he would find. Then, the miracle, if one could apply it in these terms, occurred. He had found them – he let out a dark chuckle as he saw the dates he needed. They were all here – all here in this town that he only searched on a whim.

Before the first full moon of December, the armies of Lucifer would raise Famine. 

****  
When Dean woke up the next morning, he didn't remember moving back to the couch nor did he remember when Castiel had left. He also wasn't sure if the angel would be back later in the day. He had, of course, invited him to Thanksgiving dinner. It didn't matter that Cas didn't eat – his company alone was most welcome. Well, at least in Dean's opinion he was. There were times when he felt that Sam and Bobby were still debating. After a year, he'd have thought that Sam at least would be on the same level. He wasn't even sure why this bothered him so much, but it did. Jo and Ellen had yet to meet the angel, so the only opinion they could form was from the brothers and Bobby. Dean felt it was a meeting that was long overdue. It was almost as if they hadn't met a brother of his.

That mere thought however, made Dean wince. There _had_ been another Winchester brother – even if is last name hadn't been the same. No one sharing dinner tonight had the privilege of meeting Adam Milligan. Every now and then, he caught himself thinking about his youngest brother – and there was always two emotions associated with such times of melancholy. One was sorrow – sorrow that they had never met. The other was anger. Why hadn't John Winchester bothered to tell his older sons? Either it was guilt or maybe it had been the desire to keep one child safe from this world of monsters and demons. 

He shook his head and rose from the couch he had slept on, leaving Sam snoring on the other. When he got into the kitchen, he found Ellen rummaging somewhat quietly through Bobby's pans. “Morning.”

“Morning Dean.” She cursed softly. “I don't think this cupboard has been straightened in ten years...”

He got down a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. “It's kind of early to be starting dinner, isn't it?”

“Finally...” She stood up and set a deep roasting pan on the stove. “Damn thing was buried all the way in the back.”

“That pan's to big for a ten pound turkey.” Not that Dean was an expert on cooking, but it seemed more suited to a twenty pound bird than the one currently thawing in the sink.

“It's not for the turkey, it's for Chex Mix.” She picked up her own coffee mug. “How did you sleep?”

“I've had better and I've had worse. You?”

“Not bad. Sam still sleeping?”

“Yeah.” He glanced towards the other room. “Though he should be up soon, he's stopped snoring.”

“Was that him or Bobby sawing logs down here last night?”

“It was Bobby.” Dean took another swig of coffee. “If Sam snored that loud, I'd make him get his own hotel room.”

She let out a small snort. “That was usually why I made Ash sleep on the pool table. The sound tended to travel.” She looked into her coffee mug. “Damn, I don't think I've celebrated Thanksgiving since...”

“Yeah.” He finished for her. He didn't want to think about what happened at the Roadhouse the year before he went to Hell. “I wouldn't be surprised if Bobby tried to take over the kitchen from you later.”

“I seriously doubt that.” She took another swig of coffee. “Is your angel friend coming?”

“I don't know.” He shrugged. “It's not like he eats.”

“Or celebrates American holidays.” Bobby said as he wheeled into the room. “Morning.” He got himself a cup of coffee. 

“He was here around three this morning.” Dean shrugged. “Not sure when he left though.”

“He doesn't eat?” Ellen raised an eyebrow. “Does he drink?”

“Water and coffee – and even then, only on occasion.” He unsuccessfully tried to hide a grin. “I did get him to drink a beer a few weeks ago.”

“I'll bet that has a good story attached.” Ellen replied as she started to make a second pot of coffee.

“I take it he hasn't found God yet.” Bobby said, taking a drink of coffee.

“No... his search is going about as well as our search for the Colt.” He shook his head. “Why do I have the feeling that they're both in the exact same place and someone is playing a sadistic game of hide-and-seek with us?” 

“Because that makes sense.” Sam said as came into the kitchen, rubbing his face. “What time is it?”

“It's just after eight... the only one still asleep is Jo.” Dean replied.

“Well, she did the driving from Cody all the way to Mitchell, so she was pretty exhausted when we got here. It may have only been nine hours, but the snow was with us the entire time.” Ellen said, heading for the cupboard.

“That's one of the only bad things about being this far north – winter shows up a month before it's supposed to.” Sam took a clean mug from the drying rack and went over to the coffee pot.

“You get used to it.” Bobby smirked over his coffee cup. “It's actually a little late this year. It usually snows before Halloween.”

All of them laughed in reply.

****

Heather smoothed out the table cloth on the dining room table, frowning slightly. The antique oak table was big enough that it could seat nine people comfortably normally and if all the leaves were added to it, fifteen. The only reason it was in their house and not another family member's was that it was passed down to the oldest daughter in her mother's family. Whenever her mom died, it would go to Leslie Daniels, who was fifteen years Heather's senior. “How am I suppose to put down three place settings and it not be awkward looking?” She shook her head and went to the sideboard to pick up the china. 

Last Thanksgiving, when they had still been in Indianapolis, they had hosted a small handful of college students whose parents had gone to school with her father. They were a mix of students from Indiana and Kentucky – and their parents lived in places like Arizona and California. Why her dad wasn't doing the same thing again this year she didn't know. It had been great fun, at least in her opinion – even if all that was discussed over dinner had been basketball. 

She put plates down on each down and then one in the middle of the left side. Looking over the empty places, she shook her head. “I wonder if there's six people in Jasper who don't have a place to sit.... we could loan them the space.” She went to retrieve the silver.

*

Lila helped her dad load the last of the folding chairs into the trunk of his car. “Exactly how old do I have to be before I get to stop sitting with the seven year olds and start sitting with the adults?” 

Her father chuckled. “Next year, sweetie. There's not room at the big table for you yet.”

“That's what you said last year – and the year before that.”

“Honestly Lila, I don't know. Besides, maybe it won't be so bad this year.”

“I don't know why I have to stop three seven year olds from throwing food at each other. They should know better by now.”

“Maybe they will.” He ruffled her hair in response and closed the trunk.

“They didn't know any better at gran and gramp's anniversary party a month and a half ago.”

“You don't want to sit at the grown-up table, believe me. All that we talk about is politics and sports.” They went back inside the house and into the kitchen. “Next November you'll be thirteen – then you can fork baby-sitting duties off to your cousin Jayce, she'll be ten.”

*

Beth wished for the millionth time that her brother Ian had come home for Thanksgiving. In the past hour alone, her younger brother, Josh, had asked at least fifty times if Ian was going to be here for dinner. She'd have thought that at the age of eight, he could understand the simple geography involved. Lincoln, Nebraska wasn't close the way Bloomington, Indiana was. She decided to blame it on television and movies – where people seemed to get from New York to Los Angeles in a five minute plane ride. 

She cut another potato into chunks before adding it to the pot of water on the stove. “Uncle Keith and Aunt Sally are coming to dinner, right?”

“Yes. Sally finally called me late last night. They're bringing the wine, rolls and the sweet potatoes.”

“What time will they get here?”

“A little after one – we should have dinner around three.” She washed the lids of three cans of green beans and another of cream of mushroom soup. “Speaking of celebrations, if I recall, someone has a birthday coming up.”

“Mom...” She added two more potatoes.

“Beth, I know you'd want to do a little something with your friends, even if if it just pizza and a movie.”

“It's to close to Christmas.”

“Honey, we celebrate Hanukkah.”

“Yes, but they celebrate Christmas. It's not fair to them.” She chunked another potato. “I mean, Lila always checks with me about the dates of Passover before she schedules her birthday party in March.”

“Would you like to have your friends over for the last night of Hanukkah?”

“That could be fun.”

“What's this new friend's name you were telling me about last night at dinner?”

“Heather. She lives down the street – where the Langdons used to live before Mr. Langdon retried and they moved to Florida.”

“Oh, the Kittredge girl....I've spoken to Sarah Kittredge on occasion. They seem like a very nice family.”

*  
Molly finished cleaning her bathroom before noon. She knew she'd be to tired after dinner – and she had enough to do tomorrow. The bathroom was her least favorite chore, hence the reason she did it first. She refilled her containers of mouth wash, bath salts, cotton balls and then wiped up the sink. After bundling up the trash, she went into her room and looked around. It wouldn't be to hard to fit another sleeping bag in here. Besides, she mused, since when did a sleepover actually involve much sleep? Chuckling, she shoved the bathroom sack into the taller bedroom trash can. 

She had invited Heather out of courtesy, because honestly, Beth should have known better than to bring up a party of any kind in front of someone who wasn't invited. But now that she thought on it, she probably should have invited her in the first place. It couldn't be to easy for her, being in this town and having no friends when she got here. The only reason she could figure the reason that they moved here was the economic downturn and the family needed a cheaper place to live. 

“Molly, I need your help down here in the kitchen, please.”

“Coming mom.” She washed her hands and went downstairs. “What do you need?”

“Stir this.” Her mother indicated the bowl of bread soaking in broth on the counter. “I've got to put this casserole together.”

“Sure.” She tied an apron around her waist and then did as asked. “Where's dad?”

“He had to go pick up something at his office – I think he worries that the cleaning crew rearranges things in the night.”

As her father was an attorney, she could see where that could be a problem. “Mom, why don't we live closer to Evansville? Dad's always complaining about the commute.”

“He grew up here in Jasper, you know that. We thought about moving to Newburgh when you were younger, but then your grandmother got sick and he didn't want to leave her alone.”

She adjusted her hold on the spoon. “Who all is coming to dinner?”

“A few of the interns from your dad's law firm. They have so much work, they couldn't get away.”

“Aren't they all from around here?”

“No, these are the ones from New England. Besides, with the weather they're having up there, they'd have probably spent the holiday stuck in an airport.”

“So how many do I need to set the table for?”

“Seven.” She finished opening the cans and started putting the casserole together. “Now, I want to know if turkey pot pie is okay for dinner tomorrow.”

“You mean the one where you use the leftover mashed potatoes for the bottom crust?” Molly grinned.

“Do I ever make any other kind?”

“Nope. It sounds fantastic.”

****

The one table at Bobby's house that they all could have sat down at was so buried in books Sam figured it'd take five hours just to clear it off, clean it and set it. So instead, he and Dean hauled two old warped card tables from the basement and set them up in the family room. Jo had found two tablecloths in an upstairs closet that hadn't been used for a séance cloth and spread them over the tops. The mismatched plates were stacked on the kitchen table and the food was spread on the counter and stove. They were going to be drinking wine from whiskey glasses. 

Dean reflected to himself that the whole spread probably would be Martha Stewart's worst nightmare. Even though by the time they all sat down to eat Cas hadn't shown up, he figured the angel had finally gotten a decent lead – on God or the Colt. He knew there were people they would have liked to have sitting down to dinner with them. Hell, deep down, he was willing to bet that he and Sam would both give a lot to be sitting down to this meal not here in Sioux Falls, but in that house in Lawrence. With both their parents – with whoever Dean would have met growing up there, Sam with Jess... He shook his head to clear it and went back to eating his potatoes was Ellen was explaining the recent upsurge in werewolf cases, mostly on the west coast.

“I tell you, I have no idea how they are keeping things covered up the way they are.” She shook her head. “There were seven dead in Ashland. I'd say Jo and I were lucky to have caught at least one of them before they crossed out of Oregon and into California.”

“It's crazy.” Jo spread some cranberry sauce on her turkey. “It's like they're not even trying to hide anymore.”

“It's only going to get worse.” Bobby said, glancing sideways at the Winchester brothers. “The sooner we find the Colt...”

“That's assuming the Colt will even work on Lucifer.” Jo interjected.

“That gun is supposed to be able to kill anything.” Dean said between a mouthful of stuffing. 

“Don't talk with your mouth full.” She replied in disgust.

“But she's got a point.” Sam said. “We don't know if the Colt will work or not.”

“Either way.” Bobby said. “I'd rather our side have it than theirs.”

“True.” Sam went back to eating his green bean casserole.

“If the demons have destroyed it, we're out of that option.” Ellen said. “Do we have any others?”

“None that we really want to talk about, no.” Dean muttered.

She was about to ask what he meant when Bobby spoke up. “I'll tell you later.” 

*  
The Harvelles didn't stay for the night, but left shortly after nine, heading south to New Orleans. Dean guessed from their departure that Bobby had told them about him and Sam being vessels. He supposed from an outsider's point of view, the clear choice would be to say yes. But they hadn't seen what being Raphael's vessel had done to that poor guy in Maine. And that, Cas had informed him, was light compared to what being Michael's vessel would do to him. He didn't even want to think about what would happen to Sam. The nightmare trip he'd taken to two-thousand fourteen had been bad enough. He still had to wonder in that hypothetical future had been so horrible that it would have caused Sam to say yes. Then again, the whole thing could have been an induced hallucination on Zachariah's part. It's not like the angel hadn't done it before. The idea of Cas turning into a drug addicted womanizer was about as likely as Sam saying yes. Hell, that seemed way more impossible than Sam saying yes. It had to have been a dream, because if Sarah Palin became president, the state that would leave the union would be California, not Texas.

He groaned and got up from the couch. Sleep was going to remain as illusive as it had last night. The clock in the kitchen said it was just after two in the morning. Dean sat down at the kitchen table and opened his laptop. If he couldn't sleep, then he might as well troll the Internet for his and Sam's next case. 

“You can't sleep either?” Sam said as he came into the room, carrying his own laptop.

“No.” He didn't look up as his brother sat down opposite him. 

“Found anything interesting?”

“So far, all I've found is a haunting in Little Rock – or a supposed haunting. The only witnesses are a couple of teenagers.”

“And that's not credible why?”

“Because all three kids involved have records of drug use.”

Sam rubbed his eyes and was about to speak when there was a small rustling noise and Castiel appeared in the kitchen. “Cas?”

“Shh..” He held a finger to his lips. “I'm being followed...”

“And you came here?” Dean said incredulously. 

“It's not a demon or an angel...” The angel's voice was barely heard above the hum of the fridge. “It's out there...” He nodded towards the piles of wrecked cars. 

The brothers exchanged glances and then stood, put their boots and coats on before picking up their shotguns. “So what is it then?”

“I'm not certain...”

“Great.” They stepped out into the cold night, Dean was silently thankful that Bobby was snoring away in his room. 

“I don't think it means us harm.”

“What makes you say that?” Sam asked.

“If it did, it would have followed me into the house.” They went down the ramp and from there they spread out into the piles of wrecks. The snow had finally stopped early Thursday morning, leaving the salvage yard with nine inches of snow. In some places, the snow drifts had mounted to nearly two feet, effectively hiding the bottom cars from view. 

Dean made his way to the right, grateful that Bobby had always kept the pathways free of spare junk. Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement and he spun around and saw a shadow flit across the snow, away from him and towards the direction Sam had gone. He moved forward, intending to circle around so they could trap whatever this thing was.

Sam edged around a half buried minivan and then he felt something fly past him, ruffling his hair. A second later, the whatever it was materialized around ten feet in front of him. If it was a spirit, then it was easy to deal with. On pure instinct, he raised his shotgun and fired. The shot echoed through the salvage yard and the cold night and when he looked at his target, he nearly lowered his weapon in shock. He didn't even notice when Dean and Castiel came up next to him. 

The figure hadn't dissipated, it hadn't fallen over – it had barely more than stumbled. The whatever was brushing off the front of its dark colored coat and then he turned to face them. It wasn't even a he – it was a dark haired woman who looked rather...stoic.

“If I was a human you'd have a lot of explaining to do, Samuel Winchester.” She glanced at Dean, who had raised his own weapon. “Save your ammunition for something it will work on.” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Polyhymnia.” 

“It's Polly. No one but my father calls me that anymore... and Callie, when she's in a bossy mood.”

“What are you? Why are you following Cas?”

The woman blinked. “Cas?” She chuckled. “That's something I've not heard before. An angel with a nickname.” She came towards them walking on top of the snow, the boots she wore making almost no mark in the white powder. “You're a hard angel to catch... if you had just stopped, I wouldn't have had to chase you here.”

Castiel glanced at Dean. “This is one of the Muses... specifically the one in charge of hymns and other forms of praise.”

“Wait, the Muses are real?” Sam hadn't been told of the conversation last night. 

“Yes.” The angel stepped forward and came towards her. “Why are you following me?”

“You know, you're very lucky that Penny called me. Since I'm not exactly a member of any angel fan-clubs, you're probably the only person I could contact and give a damn.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets. “I'll just cut right to the chase. The followers of Lucifer are getting ready to raise Famine.”

“Famine?” Dean cut in. “Like the horseman?”

“Exactly.” She raised her chin, her tone icy. “They found the town, they found the girls and the place is small enough that the third part shouldn't be to difficult.”

“Wait, how are they going to raise Famine?” Sam asked.

“The raising of Famine requires four sacrifices.” Cas answered. “Four girls, one born on each solstice and each equinox. They all must be virgins, but must have begun puberty...” He blinked at Polly. “...and they all must eat and drink from the same field.”

“What the hell does that mean? Eat and drink from the same field?”

“It means all the demons have to do is wait until Monday morning when all four girls get a carton of milk and a cookie in the lunch line at school.” 

“Where are they?”

“Jasper, Indiana.” She came forward until she was only a few feet away from them. 

“Why are you telling us this?” The angel's voice became cold. “It breaks the rules.”

“What rules?” Sam asked.

“Technically, my sisters and I are forbidden from taking part in this whole demonic and angelic war... unless they throw the first punch.” She smirked at Castiel. “In this case, they did.”

“How so?” Cas glared at her.

“You watched the fight between Michael and Lucifer looking down. There were others observing... looking up.” She glanced at the Winchester brothers. “We weren't allowed to fight in this war until Lucifer walked free... if we'd been allowed to fight before then, Penny would have killed Lilith before Dean went to Hell.”

“I don't get it... how did the demons throw the first punch?” Sam was floored by the news that this whole Apocalypse could have been averted if not for this rule she was talking about.

“Lucifer killed my uncle and I resent all the people who think they are one in the same. Hades wasn't the asshole that so many stories have made him.”

“Why would Melpomene want to kill Lilith?” 

“On that matter, Dean Winchester, I am sworn to secrecy.” She raised her chin and a scar that went down her right cheek and disappeared under the neck of her sweater flashed. “...and the angel knows how well my sisters and I keep secrets.” She came towards Castiel. “But I can tell you this...” 

Dean didn't hear what the woman whispered into the angel's ear, only that his expression changed to one of absolute shock. He'd only seen that look once before and that had been in that brothel in Maine. Whatever it was, it was something major. Polly backed away from Cas and then patted him on the cheek like he was her kid brother. “You take care now.” She stepped back again and disappeared. 

“What did she tell you?” 

“Pack your things and leave South Dakota as soon as possible.” The angel looked from one brother to the other and then vanished.

“Okay, that was weird.” Dean said. “You want to wake up Bobby and let him know we're going or dig out the car?”

“Bobby.” The two turned and headed back into the house.

**

Castiel had wanted to believe the Muse had been lying to him. He could have sworn she was lying to him. He only had three of the nine to go by – and all three of those were widely regarded as being the most honest – with Clio being the most trustworthy. But the evidence in front of him confirmed the truth. He left the house in Jasper almost as quickly as he confirmed the truth and went somewhere, anywhere... in the direction of 'away.' He knew why he hadn't known. If anyone other than the nine knew, he had kept his silence and odds were, someone had told Chuck Shurley not to send the story to his publisher.

When he raised his eyes to look up again he was shocked at where he had landed. The angel tilted his head back, craning his neck to take into the enormity that was the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. For a brief moment he became lost in the absolute wonder of what one human spirit can create – so lost he did not notice the slight burn of the amulet that hung around his neck. By the time he realized it, the metal had once again grown cold.

****

Thousands of miles from where Castiel stood and several hundred from where Dean and Sam were packing up the Impala and getting out of South Dakota, a floorboard of a house creaked. One person in the house was awake to hear it and the boy sat up in his bed, listening. Someone was walking in the hallway – pacing slowly. Down the hardwood floor the entire length of the area rug, turning at the door of the master bed room and then back down towards his end of the hallway. The boy, whose name was Wesley, frowned and got out of bed. Odds were, it was his dad again – he'd paced for months after he and Wesley's mother divorced and he worried over things like custody and who'd watch his son while when he worked late. Opening the door, Wesley peered out into the hall. 

It wasn't his dad, it was someone else – someone who looked much younger than his dad – and oddly, Wesley could almost see the opposite wall through the man. He stood up a little straighter, certain he was dreaming as the figure came down to his end again and this time, he paused and turned towards him. He wasn't sure if he should scream or not – there wasn't any such thing as ghosts. Wesley concluded that he had to be dreaming. 

The man shook his head – and then vanished.

Wesley blinked once or twice, shut the door to his room and jumped into his bed, pulling the covers over his head. _There's no such things as ghosts, there's no such things as ghosts...._


	2. Pretty Maids All In A Row

It was dawn when the Winchester brothers reached Kansas City and turned east. Dean pulled the Impala off the interstate in a flyspeck of a town called Odessa. He'd been driving the past five hours and the car needed fuel and he needed coffee. “Time to wake up, Sammy.” He shook his brother's shoulder.

“Where are we?” 

“Missouri.” He pulled into the gas station. “This place has the cheapest gas I've seen in a while.” He rubbed his face. 

Sam blinked in the morning light. “Coffee and doughnuts?” 

“Sounds good.” Dean got out of the car and stretched before setting about refueling the car. “They're probably pretty fresh this time of the day.”

“I'll see if I can find how far away Jasper is from here. I've never even heard of that town.” Sam replied as he left the car and made his way across the small lot to the convenience store. The place was typical of many of the stores he had been in. There was the usual beer, soda and spread of candy bars that seemed insanely big for a store so small, along with novelty items that tended to be local to the area, in this case, it seemed to be the University of Missouri Tigers. He filled two large cups with coffee and, after affixing lids to both of them picked up a box with half a dozen glazed doughnuts. 

“Morning.” The man behind the counter said as Sam set his purchases down. “Anything else?”

“Tank of gas on five.” He watched as the man hit a few buttons and added the price of the fuel. “Say, do you know how far it is to Jasper, Indiana from here?”

“Jasper?” The man blinked and picked up an atlas from under the counter. “That's a good eight, maybe nine hours from here...you can expect traffic to be slow in St. Louis. Damn cars have been heading to that outlet mall since four... I hate Black Friday...” He showed Sam the map. “When you get close to the Mississippi, you're going to want to get off seventy and take the Martin Luther King Bridge over the river. You get on that, you'll be right on sixty-four, so you'll avoid that confusing mess over in Illinois. 'Nother thing... it's a holiday weekend, so Illinois is going to be thick with state troopers who'd just love to write a couple of out-of-staters a ticket.”

“Thanks.” Sam replied and headed back out to the car. After Dean made his own short trip into the store, they headed back out to the interstate. For a span of at least fifteen minutes, neither of them talked, they just ate. It reminded Sam vaguely of the night his brother came to his apartment in California. An October evening four years ago – that started all of this. He'd slept at least half of that trip up from Stanford as they headed for Jericho. He shook his head, wiped his fingers on a napkin and took a swig from his coffee. 

“So what do you think that Muse-chick told Cas?” Dean said, finally breaking the silence.

“I don't know.” He shook his head. “I have a feeling it's nothing good.”

“Maybe it's something about one of the girls... which, by the way, she didn't bother to identify.”

“I checked the place out on-line. The town is pretty small – and there's only one middle and high school.”

“Still...” He rubbed his chin. “I don't know Sammy, Cas was pretty adamant about us getting there as soon as possible.”

“Speaking of, how exactly are we going to stop these kids from getting sacrificed? There's four of them and two of us.”

“I don't know.” He frowned. “You find anything in that book of Bobby's?”

“Some.” He pulled the book out of his backpack. “There was the stuff about the girls all having the right birthday and so forth...” He flipped to the page. “Get this... each girl has to have a certain vein opened up.” He grimaced. “Then killed by slitting their throats.” He shut the book. “So if they all go to school on Monday I'm guessing all the demon who was assigned the task has to do is leapfrog from one girl's house to the other.”

“Let's just hope these girls don't hang out together.” He shook his head. “Because from the way that Polly woman said... hell, what if they all go out for pizza together tonight or something?”

“Well, maybe luck will be on our side for a change.”

“Then there's the other thing that's bothering me.” Dean took a swig of coffee before pulling into the left lane to pass a minivan. “Who is that Penny person the Muse mentioned and why would she have wanted to keep me from going to Hell?”

“Well, I'm guessing Penny is another one of the Muses.” Sam shut the book and put it away. “Maybe she knew about the whole Apocalypse thing and was trying to stop it before it even started.”

“Somehow I don't see Greek Muses sitting down to compare notes with demons or angels.” He shook his head. “Whatever it was that Polly told Cas, it scared him. He knows more than just about everyone we've ever met – and this was something he _didn't_ know.” He took another sip of coffee. “I don't even know who all the Muses are.”

“There's nine of them.” Sam thought back to a class he had taken back at Stanford. “Well, there's the one we met, the only ones I can remember off the top of my head are Calliope, Clio, Thalia and Urania.”

Dean snorted in response. “And they are?”

“Epic poetry, history, comedy and astronomy, respectively.” He's surprised he remembered that much, considering he took the class second semester of his freshman year.

“So none of them could be called Penny for short.” He tapped the steering wheel, thinking. “Cas said that Muses are forces of creativity... what if whenever some idiot makes a deal with a cross-roads demon for some kind of artistic success or something, they're the ones who show up to help with that?”

“You think they do it willingly?”

“Maybe it's another one of those stupid rules...” He shook his head. “Then again, they could be doing it to wrack up favors.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it... if the demon can't handle it themselves, they call up one of those sisters and next thing you know, the Muses could very well have half of the demons in hell as their bitches.”

Sam took another swallow of coffee. “You put it that way and I hope Polly doesn't take the gunshot personally.”

“Odds are, she won't.” He hit a button the radio. “Let's see if there's any decent stations around here...” A few minutes later, a classic rock station broadcasting from Columbia blared out of the speakers.

****

Melpomene hunched her shoulders slightly, shrinking away from the pedestrian traffic that was thronging past her. The chill from the window behind her was sinking through her coat, causing her to shudder slightly. She had sent her sister to find Castiel because she was barely able to hold herself together. It had been two hundred and thirty some odd years since she'd been this shaken. She remember what had happened on that brutally cold winter night. The worst night of her very long and endless life. The second worst seemed to be closing fast, and because of one very stupid rule – she couldn't stop it. Not herself... but if she sent someone else to do it...

She lifted her head as an errant snowflake brushed against her cheek. The spots of lace – as they were once called by a woman in a musical her sister Callie helped with. All the epic music scores were products of her eldest sister's darlings. Mozart, Beethoven, Rodgers and Hammerstein, Williams. The music everyone knew – the music people hummed involuntarily. If it wasn't Calliope's, it was Euterpe's. Once upon a time, her sister had been the Muse of lyric poetry. She still wasn't entirely sure who gave her music as well. Music used to be Melpomene's domain. Nothing remained of what she helped create in that genre. It was lost – forever. 

Tragedy was all she had – and from some insane reason, she was an optimist. She'd caused more curses and disgruntled students than the whole lot of her sisters put together. Of course, if they knew all the things she was connected to that they actually enjoyed, they'd change their curses to praise. She leaned flush against the glass and tilted her face to the falling snow. 

She closed her eyes and softly hummed a song she always heard in the silence of her mind for the past few years. A moment later, she heard a few errant strands being played on a guitar. Even in this chilly afternoon in Toronto, someone was trying to make it in the world of music. 

Penny smiled a little wider and walked down towards the scruffy looking man who was barely that – he couldn't have been more than twenty-one. He was strumming away a tune she recognized as Billy Joel's 'Always a Woman'. She stood, hands in her pockets, listening for a few minutes. He didn't even know she was there until he looked up. “That's very good.” She pulled her hand out of her pocket and dropped several Canadian two dollar coins into the open case. 

“Thank you.” The man beamed at the praise. “Would you like to hear anything?”

“I don't suppose you know the song 'Going Home' by Mary Fahl, do you?”

“As a matter of fact... yes. Though it does sound better on a violin...” He closed his eyes and began to play the request and then started to sing. His voice was a gravelly baritone, made more so by the consumption of nicotine, but the beauty of the song is not lost at all.

Melpomene listened for a few moments and then ever so slightly, nudged the man's forehead, just as she had with the woman in Texas. The man's voice seemed to become more clear and she knew other people were stopping to listen. She knew that tonight, this boy would sit down and once again find the will to write music, the will that had left when his mother died five years ago. Smiling, she dropped another handful of the two dollar coins into the open guitar case and then headed up the street, still humming the tune under her breath.

****

Heather sneezed once as dusted off the top of her bookshelf. She fanned her hand in front of her face as the last of the dust motes settled back down. “It's a good thing I don't have allergies...” She took another swipe at the wooden surface. Her plan was to have her room clean and her homework done before she went over to Molly's, so that she wouldn't have to worry about doing it Saturday and Sunday. From what she could recall, sleepovers rarely involved sleep. The last one she had been to when she was ten, she and the other four girls there had fallen asleep around two in the morning, after watching the first three _Harry Potter_ films and then giggling about who was cuter, Daniel Radcliffe or Tom Felton. It didn't matter that the actors were all at least seven years older. 

After taking one final swipe at the top of the shelf, she climbed down from her desk chair and started on the shelves themselves. She was about to start taking down the books when the phone rang. She went into the hall and picked up the receiver. “Kittredge residence.”

“Hi, Heather. It's Beth.”

“Hey. What's up?”

“Not much. Say, do you want to come over and work on homework together? I'd rather get it done now than try and do it Sunday.”

“Sure. But aren't you watching your brother?”

“He's eight and he's having fun with the X-Box anyway.”

“I'll be over in a few. You live in the house with the big wind-chime on the porch, right?”

“Yup.”

Heather said good-bye and went to retrieve her backpack from her room. She shrugged into her jacket and went down to the kitchen where her mom was folding laundry. “Mom? I'm going to go over to Beth's house and do some homework. Is that okay?”

Sarah Kittredge looked up. “Sure honey – just don't forget to come back to get your things before you go over to Molly's.”

“I won't.” She came over and hugged her. “I also don't want to have to drag my school books all over town.” 

“Bye sweetie.”

“Bye mom.” She went out the back door and around the front of the house. There was just enough chill in the air to let you know it was almost December. There hadn't been much in the way of snow so far, only a dusting and the occasional flurry. Plenty of people had the day off and were using what could be the last of the decent weather to get their Christmas lights up. That was the project that Heather and her dad had planned for Saturday afternoon – as the Indianapolis Colts were playing Sunday. She came to a stop in front of Beth's house, glancing at the name on the mailbox, _Matherstone._

Like Heather's, the house was a modest split level with a front porch that wasn't so much of a porch but more like an extra large landing. The holly bushes planted in the front did a good job of hiding it, although the three foot gap between them and the front windows was pretty obvious. 

She went up to the door and was about to ring the bell when she caught sight of a bronze mezuzah nailed just above her eye level. Heather, whose own family was Catholic, only recognized the item from the time she once went to a religious book store and asked the clerk what they were. “I didn't think that anyone in this town was Jewish.” She shrugged and rang the bell. 

A moment later, Beth opened the door, grinning. “Hey. Come on in.” She stepped aside. “Mom just asks for people to take off their shoes.”

“Sure.” Heather pulled them off and set them down next to the several pairs that were already near the door. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Good.” She led the way down the kitchen. Beth was smaller than Heather by what she guessed to be ten pounds and three inches. She waved into the family room. “That's my brother Josh. Josh, this is Heather, she lives down the street.” 

“Hi.” The boy didn't even turn towards them.

“Brothers.” Beth shook her head as they went into the kitchen. “You have any siblings?”

“No, I'm an only child.”

“That must be nice sometimes.”

She shrugged in response. “I don't know...I wouldn't have minded having a brother or a sister.” She took her jacket off and set her bag on one of the kitchen chairs. Beth's homework was already spread out on one side of the table. “What all do you have left to do?”

“History, math and those stupid definitions for science. You?”

“Math and the definitions...I finished history at school and the essay for English yesterday.”

“By the way, when I called you... did you hear a buzzing noise on the phone?”

“Like static?”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah I did... we used to have that happen at our old house every now and then. I remember asking my dad about it, and he says that's usually caused by a lot of activity on the electric grid.”

“With all the people putting up Christmas lights and the fact that they're putting up the lights in the square, I guess that makes sense.”

**  
Sam and Dean arrived in Jasper just after four in the afternoon. The man in Odessa hadn't been wrong about the traffic in St. Louis being a nightmare. At one point, Dean had to wonder if everyone and their cousin was out in that city. The drive was uneventful, save for the long stretch of silence when they first got to Indiana and saw signs for New Harmony. Neither of them wanted to discuss the events that occurred almost two years ago. 

They had almost expected to get to town and find the place full of demons. Surely raising one of the four horsemen would bring them out in droves. The hotel they were staying in was just in the town limits, the view from the window looked out over the parking lot and beyond that, a supermarket. Sam was surprised the place actually had a Wi-Fi network. 

“First thing we need to do is find out who we're looking for.” Dean said, dropping his duffel bag next to the bed nearest the bathroom.

“Town is pretty small... and what kind of cover are we going to use anyway?” Sam frowned as he sat at the table and set up his laptop. “I don't think we can pass ourselves off as lunch ladies.”

“No way.” Dean dug his own laptop out of his bag and sat down opposite his brother. “You find anything else out about that ritual?”

“Only that it has to be done before the moon is full and the next full moon is on the second.”

“Great.” He shook his head. “We may have to go the substitute teacher method.”

“I am not doing janitorial work again.”

“Fine. I'll do it this time if it comes to that.” He found the local news page and started looking for anything that might help them.

Sam, meanwhile, was working on hacking into the Jasper Middle School's database. It had a pathetically weak firewall by his standards. By a normal person's, it was next to impossible to crack. “I don't think we have to worry about the girls eating the same thing at school anytime next week.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because of the planned menu...” He looked up. “The most appetizing sounding thing is fish sticks... and that's not until Thursday.”

“Which is the third.”

“Right.” He shook his head and went into the student records. “Wish there was an easier way to sort through these.”

Dean was searching through the Evansville paper's website. “There was a burglary at a silver shop on Thanksgiving.”

“What's missing?”

“That's just it... the owners are rather surprised – the only thing missing are four finger bowls... valued at just over two hundred dollars. There was a full set of silver worth nearly a thousand dollars right next to where they were displayed.”

“Any leads?”

“None. Whoever did this must have known the place pretty well, because they deactivated the alarm.”  
He shook his head. “There was a jewelry store next door, you'd think someone would rob that place instead. They don't have any leads.”

“I've got one of the girls.” Sam said. “Molly Babcock, four-one-seven Maple Drive... born June twenty-first... she'll be thirteen next year.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, staring at his screen. “Babcock...” He frowned. “There's a law firm near that silver store with that name as part of the partnership.” He went back to looking.

“Got another one, I think...” Sam said. “Not sure, Lila Ungashick...thirteen Slate Street. Her birthday is the twentieth of March....” He opened a second window. “I'm going to check the dates for ninety-five, ninety-six and ninety-seven... the dates of the equinox aren't set the way the solstices are...”

“Yeah, Wainwright, Babcock and Porter, attorneys at law...” He looked as his brother. “Don't tell me there's someone in this town who makes an hour commute...”

“It's possible, this town is pretty small.” Sam flipped through a few more records. “Found another... Beth Matherstone, December twenty-first... she lives over at two-six-nine Summit Avenue.”

“How old are these girls anyway?”

“So far, they're all twelve.” He shook his head. “Wait...” He checked the dates in the other window. “One's thirteen...” He looked up. “Heather Kittredge,born September twenty-second, two-six-three Summit Avenue.”

“Summit Avenue? The same street that the Beth girl lives on?”

“Yeah.”

“So they're neighbors.” Dean frowned. “Why does that sound like bad news for us but good news for a demon?” He opened a second window and pulled up a street map of Jasper. “Anything else of note on the girls?”

“Let's see... looks like all of them but the oldest were born and raised here in Jasper. The Kittredges moved here this past summer. Stephen Kittredge is principal at Jasper Elementary...formerly principal of West Cambridge High in Indianapolis.” He frowned. “That's weird.” He checked a few things.  
“What's weird?”

“Holy...” He looked up. “Ava...”

“Ava?” Dean thought for a moment. “As in Ava who killed all of those people in that little psychic kids death match?”

“Yeah...” Sam looked up. “Heather Kittredge is her cousin.”

“That's one hell of a coincidence.” He frowned. “You don't think...”

“No... I hope not...” He ran a hand through his hair. “I think a demon probably would have smelled her out before now – and probably wouldn't kill her if her mom made a deal the way...” He didn't want to finish that sentence.

Dean knew he didn't need to. “I need a beer.”

“Me too.” They shut down their laptops and left the hotel in search of alcohol and food.

****

In Key West, they celebrate the sunset. It's not so hot this time of year, but the place is still packed. People dance, drink, laugh... It's the start of a party that lasts from the sun going down until shortly before it comes up. Melpomene leaned against a lamp post, watching the crowd dance in the sand as the sun turned the Gulf of Mexico a million different shades of dazzling blue, orange, pink, red and green. The sun itself was a blazing orange this evening, casting the nearly full moon in a yellowish tint. She knew he was right behind her, watching the crowds with the same curious look that his kind always got around humans.

“I see Polly told you, Castiel.”

“Yes.” He came and stood next to her. “I won't ask for details.”

“Why don't they celebrate the sunrise... that has always seemed more praise worthy than the sunset.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Apart from my parents, my most trusted sisters and you, no.”

“Most trusted.” The angel frowned. “And how many is that?”

“Two.” She turned to face him, looking him straight in the eye. “Polly is one, Cori is the other.”

“Calliope does not know?”

“No.” She shifted her gaze back to the crowds, now moving past them and towards the bars near the beach. “She may be the oldest of the nine of us... but we are not... close.”

“I will never understand how your family works.”

“I don't even know and I'm a member of it.” She tucked her hands into the pockets of her thin sweater. “I'm closer to my baby half brother than I am to Callie.”

“Which brother is that?” 

“Is that supposed to be an attempt at humor, Castiel?” She saw the corner's of the angel's mouth lift slightly. “It is, isn't it?”

“My apologies.”

“Don't apologize...I know my family's a walking case of... just about every single psychological disorder there is.” She shrugged. “and in case you were wondering, I was talking about Ares.”

“I see.” Castiel turned and stared over the few people still dancing in the surf. “You are right about the dawn being more praise worthy than the sunset.” He gave her a sideways glance. “I am surprised to find you here.”

“I had to come down here for something...” She tilted her head down. “...and now I have work to do.” A second later, she vanished. 

The angel took a few steps forward and leaned against the railing on one side of the sidewalk, staring at the patterns in the sand, paying no attention to the crowds passing him. He was torn – he was wishing he had told the Winchesters what Polyhymnia had told him last night. Now, now it was just a matter of time. 

****

Sam and Dean returned to their hotel room with a six pack of from some local brewery and drive through from Burger King. Dean sat back down at the table and opened one of the bottles. After taking a long swig, he set it down, frowning. “You still thinking driving by all these girls houses tonight is a good idea?” He said, bringing up a suggestion Sam had in the car.

“I mean, why not. If nothing else, we can at least confirm that they are all home and not together somewhere.” Sam sat and unwrapped his burger before restarting his laptop. “We can also at least get an idea of where these girls live in relation to one another. The demon or demons would need a central place to bring the items needed.”

“So if there's a local park or something...” Dean unwrapped his own burger and started eating.

“Exactly.” He checked the Jasper Gazette's web page for the daily news and cursed softly.  
“What's wrong?”

“In your opinion Dean, what's something all young teenage girls are likely to have in common?”   
He thought for a moment. “A devotion to the music and fashion of Miley Cyrus... or the twisted obsession for _Twilight_.”

“That's what I was thinking...” He took a deep breath. “The newest movie was a week late in getting here.”

“You think four girls are going to show up at the only theater in town to watch that...” He tried to find the right words but settled for taking another swig of beer.

“It's a good possibility.” 

“You're not seriously suggesting...”

“Yeah, yeah I am actually.”

Dean winced. “I hate you. We don't even know what these girls look like.”

“I don't like it either...” He shook his head. “Look, if it makes you feel any better we can get tickets for another movie and just stay as long as the other one lasts.”

“What are you suggesting Sam? Getting over to the theater and spiking the water supply so it's all holy water?”

“If these four girls go to the theater and have popcorn...”

“I know, I know...” He took a huge bite of burger. “What are our options?”

Sam shook his head, he was used to his brother's lack of manners. “The theater's got four screens... the only one with roughly the same start time as _New Moon_ is _2012_.”

“Somehow watching about an apocalypse while trying to stop the actual one is just wrong.”

“End of the world or vampires wearing body glitter and painted on abs... it's your choice.”

Dean shuddered. “I think I will take Los Angeles getting destroyed.” He pulled the package of fries from the bottom of his bag. “How much time do we have?”

“Until start time?” Sam checked and took another bite of his own dinner. “Hour and a half... it starts before the other one...”

“Peachy.” He took a swig of beer. “After that, we're going house hunting.”

“Sounds good.” He replied and started to eat the rest of his dinner.

****

For the past one-hundred and seventeen years, Terpsichore, affectionately known as Cori to her family, had never once missed the final dress rehearsal of _The Nutcracker_ in Russia. She had seen the ballet performed all over the world, true – but there was just something about seeing the ballet here, in Moscow, where it was first performed. Her mind wasn't on the performance, however – she was waiting patiently for the silent ring of her cell phone in her coat pocket. She knew that somewhere, Polly was doing the same. She wanted to be there in Indiana, or wherever her two sisters were waiting – hoping to catch the demon or demons they wanted. Some of the minions of Lucifer were going to find out the hard way that there were certain people you didn't want on your bad side. 

She shifted in her seat, debating for around the millionth time if she should tell Callie what was going on. As the eldest of the nine, Calliope was every inch the big sister and for all extents and purposes, the leader. She was the Muse everyone knew. It wasn't like she could get mad at Penny for what had happened. They could use her help... it wasn't like talking to Thalia – who liked nothing more than to usurp the position of baby of the family from Urania. 

Of course, Callie, being Callie, would just take charge. Penny wouldn't want that – neither did she. She frowned as she felt her cell shake slightly. It was to early for either of her sisters to be calling. She pulled the device from her pocket and saw she had a text message from an unknown number. She hit the button once and knew her eyes went wide.

_I want some answers – either come out here or I'm coming in to get you._

“Shit.” She muttered under her breath as she pulled her coat around her shoulders and tossed her scarf around her neck, glad that no one down on the stage or in the theater had noticed her presence in the mezzanine. There would be other rehearsals to visit later. 

The cold outside was biting as she walked across the square, her eyes scanning the crowd. She had done her best to avoid Gabriel for the better part of the past century. Cori had to give the archangel credit, he'd picked quite interesting lot to hang around with – pagans and godless humans. Of course, for all she knew, he was trying to pull off the greatest conversion of faith since the Jews left Egypt. She'd not been in that country when the Exodus occurred, but the news reached Greece soon enough. Her father had shortly issued the order to stay as far away from the Israelites as possible – at least until it was ascertained that it was safe. 

“Well, well, well..” A voice said from behind her. “And here I was hoping I could have a little fun.”

“Gabriel.” She turned and faced him. “I don't think I've seen you in oh, nine years... nearly ten...”

“It was a grand party.” He smirked. “Even if humans can't count and that the year two-thousand wasn't the start of a new century.”

“You're actually being civil... that's a first.” She looked him over. “Nice coat... please tell me you paid someone for that and didn't deprive someone of payment.”

“Terpsichore, I'm offended.” He straightened the collar of the heavy gray wool coat. “Do you think so little of me?”

“I asked an honest question – I know better than to get on your bad side.” She lifted her chin. “Now what on earth is it that you want to know about? I thought you were privy to just about everything.”

“I want to know why your sister is so interested in the Winchester brothers.”

“Who?” She blinked.

“Don't be coy with me, little Muse.” He came up to her, staring her straight in the eye. “It may not be able to smite you where you stand, but I can inflict just as much pain on you... and make you wish you could be smitted.”

“You seem to be under the impression that I trust you. I'll not betray my sister so you can go tell Zachariah or Raphael or whoever you're still in contact with...”

“Zach's a douche and Raphael is a jerk.” He arched an eyebrow. “I don't care who comes out of this Apocalypse the winner – I just want it to be over.”

“I don't see how my sister's interest in the Winchesters has any bearing on that.”

“It does if they're the ones who need to step up to the plate and play their roles.”

Her eyes widened at his words. “You don't mean...”

“I do. Honestly, I don't see what their problem is.”

“I think it's the fact that humans really like that Free Will thing they've got going on... so getting to be two warring angel's meat-suits doesn't really sit well with them. I also know that most brothers don't react to well to being told they have to kill the other one.”

“So I've noticed.”

“I take it you've already tried to persuade them to your way of thinking.” They started walking across the square, keeping their faces blank as they talked.

“They have to be two of the most stubborn humans ever born.”

“Coming from you, that's saying a lot, Gabriel. You do know that the followers of Lucifer are trying to raise Famine.”

“Yes.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“And let me guess... your angel buddies are just going to stand around and watch.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You all seem so very good at that.”

“Don't pass judgment on me... you don't know a damn thing about it.”

“I know enough about your kind that you have to be the most self righteous bunch of...” She shook her head and started away. “I don't have time for this.”

“We can make time.” He grabbed her arm and squeezed it, causing the bone to pop. “What's Melpomene hiding?” 

She looked down at his hand on her arm, wincing as his thumb dug into a scar that laced up her arm. “Who said it was Penny? Or have you been following us again?”

“I know that Polly visited the Winchesters and Castiel in South Dakota yesterday.”

“And you decided to come ask me and not Polly or Penny because...”

“I figured you make up the third part of their happy little trio...” He smirked. “You're also the easiest one to track down... since summoning you is such a pain.”

She chuckled. “Now Gabriel, think back to the start of our little talk... what could I possibly tell you that I don't want certain members of your family knowing?”

The archangel stared at her for a moment and then his eyes widened. “You don't mean...” He let go of her arm.

“Yes. You know, ten years off was the safest number... if this whole Armageddon thing...” She shuddered. “I'd like to go back a few decades and kick Azazel's ass on concept.”

“You know what's happening to the families of those children... the ones who failed.”

Cori nodded. “I do.” She heard her cell go off and she pulled it from her pocket. “I have to be off...” She checked the screen. “If you have any more questions... you have my number.” She vanished into thin air, leaving Gabriel alone.

**

Lila arrived at Molly's house first. She turned around on the porch and waved at her mother before ringing the bell. It was just after dark and there was a definite chill to the air, holding the promise of snow before Monday. When her friend opened the door, the strong scent of cinnamon and something else baking wafted out the door. “Hey.”

“Hiya.” Molly grinned and let her friend inside. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Great. My cousins actually behaved themselves for a change.”

“Come on, let's go throw your stuff in my room.” 

“Sure.” She leaned into the kitchen as they headed to the stairs. “Hi, Mrs. Babcock.”

“Hello, Lila.” She looked up from the stove. “Molly, your dad called. He's running a little late and told us not to wait dinner. So as soon as all your friends get here, we'll eat.”

“Sounds great mom. You need any help?” The doorbell rang.

“Just get that.” She said in reply.

Molly headed back to the door while Lila waited at the foot of the stairs. A minute later, Beth and the new girl, Heather came into the hallway. 

“Dinner will be on the table after you girls get settled.” Mrs. Babcock called from the kitchen as the four made their way up the stairs. A door on the second floor opened and she heard six light thumps as the girls put their things down. She raised her head and stared at her reflection in the window above the stove. She blinked once and her eyes went solid black. “I hope you're hungry.”

**

The movie was, in Dean's opinion, a total waste of time. As he and Sam watched the small crowd filter out of the theater and head for the parking lot, it was clear that most of the people who'd gone out for a movie this Friday were mostly high schoolers, along with a handful of college students. He leaned against the Impala, shaking his head. “That movie was horrible. Why is it in every disaster movie they have to see just how badly they can trash a place in California?”

“I think that's a recent development. Destroying New York City is now a bit of a taboo – the last movie that I know that did it was _The Day After Tomorrow_ and even then, all they did was flood the place.” Sam shook his head. “You think they know anything about...”

“Other than a handful of people in the slasher genre, I'd say probably not.” Dean replied and got into the car. “Come on, let's go sight seeing.”

“Yeah.” Sam got in on his side and watched the last few people filter past them. “It was just an idea.”  
“It wasn't a bad one...but honestly, a day off school and those girls would have been here first showing of the day of they were fans.”

“Well, what if they had to babysit a sibling?” 

“True. What's the nearest address to the theater?”

He checked his list with the addresses on it. “Uh... the Ungashick family, they live about two miles from here.” 

“Okay.” They pulled out of the parking lot and headed up the street. Several of the shops in the downtown area were already decorated for Christmas and a large tree had been set up in front of the courthouse. “Tree lighting ceremony tomorrow night...” Dean glanced at the sign next to it. “Town this size, everyone will probably be here.”

“Maybe... at least half of them – I'm willing to bet at least the Kittredges will be – new people in a small town and all.” Sam replied as they turned down another street. 

“I got a question for you... why do you suppose they moved here anyway? I'm willing to bet that it wasn't a pay increase.”

“Heath reasons?” He shrugged in response. “Economy downturn, who knows...”

*

After dinner was eaten, the four girls went upstairs and changed into their pajamas and settled down in Molly's room to marathon the two _Chronicles of Narnia_ films. They would have used the television downstairs, but Mr. Babcock had stated he needed to do some work at the dinning room table and he wanted peace and quiet. It was just after nine when they finished the first movie and decided to take a short break. 

Beth was the first to yawn. “I can't be tired yet...” She grinned. “I took a nap.”

“I don't think putting your head down in that math book and stating that Pre-Algebra is cruel and unusual punishment counts.” Heather chuckled. “And it was only for five minutes.”

“That's a perfectly good nap.”

“For a goldfish.” Lila replied. 

“Nonsense, goldfish don't sleep.” Molly put in. “That's why they don't live all that long.” 

“Especially the ones you win at carnivals.” Heather added. “I think the longest I've ever seen one of those live was six months.”

“Really?” Lila asked. “All the ones that get won at Oktoberfest are usually dead by Halloween.”

“It depends on how many of them get eaten by boys.” Beth said. “My brother Ian said he probably swallowed at least six when he was in high school.”

“Ew!” The other three girls said at once and cringed. 

“That's just plain nasty!” Molly said. “Gross.”

“No kidding.” Heather said. “Though I guess I really can't say anything... I mean, I've had a brain sandwich.”

“Augh, you've had one of those?” Beth made a horrified face. “What's it taste like?”

“It's really chewy... it's sort of like eating the fat on your steak.” She frowned. “It's not as bad as snails. Now those are _really_ nasty.”

“Are you one of those people who will eat anything?” Lila asked.

“No... I'm not. I say you should at least try something before you say you don't like it.– sushi is about as daring as I'll get. Eating a live goldfish would be like eating a pet. I used to have a beta .. but he didn't take the move from Indianapolis as well as the rest of the family did.”

Molly nodded to the bowl on her desk. “You should try getting a saltwater fish – they tend to live longer than fresh water ones... that one survived the road trip here from Owensbourgh.”

“Is that the first fish you've had?” 

“No, I've had a few others.”

“Yeah, Molly's got a little fish cemetery in her backyard.” Lila unsuccessfully tried to hide a giggle.

“I couldn't bring myself to just flush them down the toilet.” Molly said sheepishly. “Besides, aren't you the one who organized funerals for them?”

Beth shook her head and turned to Heather. “These two are always like this... they are either giving each other a hard time or are plotting something. “I've had to deal with this since we were all in first grade... hopefully they'll grow out of it soon.” 

*

“Nice house.” Sam said as they slowed down and drove past the Ungashick residence. It was one of the few houses that they'd passed that wasn't a split level or a ranch. He studied the windows, there was just one light on – a lamp in the front room. “Looks like nobody's home.” 

“Wait...” Dean glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw a car pull into the driveway. “Looks like they are now.” He frowned as he noted that it looked like both parents and one girl, to old to be Lila, were in the car. “There's just three people...” 

“So, maybe Lila's at a friend's house.” They pulled away and headed down to the main street in the subdivision, heading for Summit Avenue.

*  
“You girls all right up here?” Mrs. Babcock came into the room carrying a tray with a large bowl of popcorn and four glasses of cider. 

“Yes, mom.” 

“I thought I'd bring this up to spare you the trip.” She set the tray down on the dresser. “Don't stay up to late.”

“We won't.” Molly said. “Thanks, mom.” She maintained her smile until the woman had left and shut the door. “My parents are up to something... they're _never_ this nice.” 

Heather stood up and came over. “My parents acted that way for a week last May... at end of it, they told me we were moving here... but I've not known you or your parents long enough to tell if that's what might be going on.”

“Great...” She handed the glasses of cider to her friends. “We're going to move to Evansville and I'm going to have to go to Memorial High School...I can't make the basketball team at Memorial.”

“Maybe it's nothing.” Beth added. “I mean, what would you rather it be... when my parents got all nice to me it was because I was going to become a big sister. I was four years old... I wasn't ready to give up being the baby...”

“You should be glad you have a little brother.” Lila retorted. “You have someone to blame stuff on. I swear, I've been blamed for absolutely everything that gets broken in my house except for the car since I don't know when.” They went back to their sleeping bags and sat down. 

“This is why being an only child can be tough... there's no one you can scapegoat.” Molly said. “Am I right, Heather?”

“It's a double edged sword, really...my mom always said she knew she was in for a tough time when I figured out how to undo the baby gate latches.”

“How old where you?”

“A year and a half.” She laughed and took a sip of cider.

*

“Quiet night at the Matherstone residence.” Dean said, checking his watch. “Nine-twenty.” He frowned. “Do kids really go to bed this early?”

“No idea.” Sam replied as he looked past his brother at the house. “Wait... that window.” He pointed to the faint outline of a candelabra. “That might explain it... they're Jewish.”

“So, depending on how devout they are, it's a good bet that Miss Beth is home tonight.” He looked at the two windows that were on the split level. A light shone in one, the other was dark. “Or she could be in the basement.” 

“Yeah.” They drove the few houses to the Kittredges's. A faint light shone in both windows of the split level, coming from the hallway. The other light in the house was the one in the front room. “Maybe this kid's down in the Matherstone's basement.” 

“Or her own.” Sam said as they pulled away, heading for the Babcock's home.

*  
Mrs. Babcock came down the stairs and into the dinning room, smiling. “They should be asleep in ten minutes. There was enough sedative in that cider that should keep them out cold until noon tomorrow... that is, if they were going to wake up tomorrow.”

Mr. Babcock looked up, his eyes completely black. “Good. Why don't you go put that lady to bed?” He stood up and patted her cheek fondly. “It can't look like the work of a man who's gone off the deep end if the wife escapes unharmed.”

“You want me to stay close by?” She went into the kitchen and poured a glass of spiked cider. “Just in case?”

He chuckled. “I can handle four unconscious girls, don't worry.”

“I won't. The woman smiled. “No one will come poking around here until ten tomorrow morning... that's when Beth's mother will be here.”

“See if you can find something a little more...” He leered at her. “Pretty to wear.”

“You too.” She took another sip of the cider and walked up the stairs. In her mind she could hear Mrs. Babcock, the _real_ one, whose name was Alice, screaming at her. “Sorry, lady.” She paused near the door of Molly's room. It was quiet as she opened the door. “Scream all you want, there's nothing you can do.” She looked at the four slumbering girls, none of them in any position they'd sleep in normally. “Four pretty little maids all in a row.” She turned out the light.

*

“I think we're lost.” Sam said, as they passed McGee Court for the third time.

“These streets are laid out weird...” Dean replied. “Plus, there's all these cul-de-sacs..” He shook his head and turned down a long street that didn't have many houses on it. “Here it is, Maple...”

“With nothing but oak trees.” His brother gave a small grin as he looked out the window. “I bet the maples are on Oak Street.”

“What's the number on that mailbox?”

“Uh... four zero nine.” He peered through the trees at the large Victorian house. “I think we just found the affluent neighborhood of Jasper.”

*  
Heather didn't remember falling asleep. She certainly didn't remember lying down. It was weird, she hadn't been tired in the least. But someone was trying to wake her up by shaking her shoulder. “Nn... go away...”

“Wake up.” The shaking was repeated. “Heather, you have to wake up.”

“No... sleep.” She opened her eyes just enough to see who was crouched down next to her. It was hard to make out the details, but it was a man, who kept looking over his shoulder towards the door.

“Heather, wake up – wake up _now_.” He gave her one last shove and then suddenly vanished.

That's when she sat bolt upright, looking around the room. The others were asleep too... maybe it was later than she thought it was. A second later, she felt her stomach lurch and she bolted for the bathroom, shut the door, flipped the light on and made it to the toilet just in time as she started to throw up.

*

A single slice to the neck had ended the life of Alice Babcock, age forty-two. Going to the closet, Mr. Babcock, his eyes still completely black, pulled four silver bowls down and picked up a silver bladed knife. The carving knife that had ended the woman's life laid on the floor, abandoned and incriminating. He had no intention of killing his host, he'd leave the body discarded in the backyard after he was finished raising Famine. Providing it wasn't to cold, he should live. 

Humming softly he gently nudged the door of Molly's room open, frowning slightly at the light in the bathroom. In the stillness, he could hear one of the girls getting sick. “It's a good thing these houses are far apart...” He knelt down and nudged Lila Ungashick once. She did not respond. He set the silver bowls down next to each girl's sleeping bag, hoping that the girl in the bath remained there long enough for him to get the first two done. 

He went back to Lila 's body and picked up her right hand. Chanting softly in Latin, he made one quick slash down the veins of her right wrist. Blood slid down her hand and into the bowl, thick and dark. It was good that the sacrifice did not require much. When she let out a whimper, he ended her life with a cut to her jugular. 

*  
“This house looks fairly alive.” Dean looked at the lights that were on in a few first floor rooms as well as one in a small window on the second floor.

“I think the second floor is a bathroom – that window's to small for a bedroom.” He pointed to it. “That one actually just came on...”

“Guess all the girls stayed home tonight and washed their hair.”

“Except Lila. I say tomorrow we find out what these girls look like... there should be pictures in the yearbooks or something.”

*

The demon was almost sick with pleasure as he heard the real Mr. Babcock, whose name was Nicholas, screaming in rage as he ended the life of Molly Babcock in the same fashion he had Lila's. The wound on her left heel still bled out, despite the fact that girl's heart was no longer beating. The white comforter was becoming stained a lurid shade of crimson that would dry into a dull brown. Although by the time it dried, there would be plenty of stains in this room. He was almost giddy as he placed the second bowl of blood on the silver tray that had been used to carry up popcorn and the sedative laced cider not half an hour earlier. He turned towards the bathroom door, grinning. “Come out, come out, little harvest baby...”

*

“Uh, what time do you have? My watch battery must be dead.” Sam said as they were about to leave.

“What?” Dean checked his own. “Shit....so has mine...” A second later they both started across the yard towards the house.

*

Heather had opened the window to let the cool air into the room as she rinsed her mouth out. “How embarrassing..” She tossed the paper cup she'd used into the trash can, still slightly wobbly on her feet. “This better not have been some sick joke...” She pulled the door open, expecting to see the other three girls giggling at her, or something. Instead, she felt the color drain her from her face – hell, from her entire upper body. 

“I was just about to come get you...” Mr. Babcock tilted his head to the side, studying her. “Oh damn... aren't I lucky...” 

She looked from the man to the other three girls – two of them were covered in something wet... and Beth was lying sprawled on her sleeping bag, out cold. 

“You made this way to difficult on yourself, little girl.” He made a gesture with his hand and pinned her against the bathroom wall. Unbeknownst to them, the sound of the crash reached the ears of two men outside and they began to run faster. 

Mr. Babcock's eyes went black as he picked up the third bowl where he'd left it and somehow, she was still pinned to the wall, he came over to her, smiling. “If you had just stayed asleep like a good little girl, you'd never have felt a thing.” He ran the flat of the knife blade against her cheekbone, smearing her face in the blood of the other two girls. What the hell was happening here?

A crash came from downstairs, though Heather couldn't place it, followed by what sounded like the pounding of footsteps heading for the stairs. The monster snarled once and then shoving the bowl right under Heather's left wrist, he sliced through her skin and the scream that had been caught in her throat was finally unleashed. 

“Party's over.” A deep voice shouted from the bedroom.

Mr. Babcock wheeled around took look at them, still holding the bowl under the Heather's bleeding wrist. “You weren't invited.” He threw the arm holding the knife out towards them and the two men went flying back into the bookshelf on the far end of the room. Stuffed toys, books and ceramic animals rained down on them, most of the later broke on impact. 

The stockier man recovered first, and was able to raise his gun and fire, hitting the monster's other arm.   
He spat a curse as the bowl fell to the floor and moment later, so did Heather. “I'll get back to you...” She did the only thing she could think of and curled up into a ball. 

Dean watched as the demon came out of the bathroom and lifted Sam up with a gesture. “You I can't harm...” He dropped him on the empty bed. “Your brother on the other hand...” He grinned and took a step towards him and then another crash sounded and the demon gave a slight stumble and blood started to trickle down his forehead. Mr. Babcock fell to his knees and a second later, black smoke roared out of his mouth and disappeared through the bathroom window. Both he and Sam turned to see the remaining living girl, her eyes glassy and standing on rather wobbly legs, leaning against the desk, looking over the carnage. 

“What the hell?” Sam said, getting up. 

“I think I owe Molly a new fish...” She replied before slumping back down on the ground, unconscious.

Dean got up and went into the bathroom to check on the remaining girl whose condition they didn't know while Sam carefully made across the room to see to the one who just passed out. From what Dean could tell, the girl who was holding a towel to her wrist looked to be more stunned than injured, her face half hidden by a riot of hair that was somewhere between blond and red. She'd thankfully missed the window when the demon threw her. “Hey.” He knelt down and tried to pull the injured arm away from the girl so he could check the wound. 

“No...” 

“Come on, kid... let me help you...” He grabbed a second towel and started folding it over. Behind him, he could hear Sam calling emergency services on his cell. 

The girl reluctantly let him take a look at her bleeding wrist. It was all to much to process. “It hurts...”

“We'll get you to the hospital. What's your name?” He pressed the down on the girl's wrist. 

“Heather Kittredge.” She sniffled. “I don't feel good.”

“You going to be sick?” He tied the towel in a knot.

“No... already was.” She lifted her uninjured hand to push her hair out of her face. “I wanna sleep...”

“You need to stay awake, just until the paramedics get here.” Dean took the girl's face in his hands, hoping that if he could make eye contact, she'd stay focused. “O...” His voice died in his throat as he finally did lock eyes with the girl. The eyes were an unfamiliar shade of blue, but it was the rest of her face that stunned him. He knew Heather's face – because he had seen it countless times before.

Every time he looked into a mirror.


	3. Unseen Shadows

Neither of the Winchester brothers liked hospitals. They were there at the insistence of the Dubois County Sheriff Department and since keeping a low profile was at the top of their list, the brothers had agreed. Right now the two of them were sitting in the hallway, waiting for the officer who wanted to get statements from them to finish talking with the Kittredge girl. 

“This is nuts, you know that.” Dean said, folding his arms and watching a nurse head into the room carrying a bag of blood for a transfusion. “Then again, this could be what freaked Cas out.”

“Dad didn't tell us about Adam...”

“True, but dad didn't usually make the same mistake twice...” He turned as he heard a couple go up to the desk, both of them looking as if they'd run all the way to the hospital. “I believe the Kittredges have arrived. The Matherstones got here right before that poor girl went in to have her stomach pumped.”

“I guess the other one is lucky she threw up.” Sam shook his head as the couple came up to them and went into the room. He noticed that the woman did a double take when she saw the two of them but recovered quickly. “Either she knows who we are or is just as shocked as we are.”

“I'm going with the later.” Dean said as the officer came out of the room. 

“Now you two were just in the neighborhood?” He looked from one of them to the other.

They stood up. “That's right.” Sam replied. “We took a wrong turn trying to get back to our hotel... heard some screaming – so we ran in to check it out.”

“Damn good thing you did.” He looked down at his notebook. “You think of crazy shit like this happening elsewhere, not in towns like this.” He shook his head. “Those poor girls... Nicholas Babcock is a respected member of this community. The good news I suppose is that he's not denying he did it – not that there's any other explanation.” He tucked his notebook back into his pocket. “I appreciate the two of you coming down here with us. Makes things easier for everyone.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Dean nodded towards Heather's room. “Physically, at least?”

“I can't tell you that.” He looked the two of them over again. “I have to go meet with the coroner. Thank you again for your cooperation.” He turned and went down the hallway. 

“We should head back.” 

“Right.” Sam replied and they started up the corridor. “You think the demon will be back for these two?”

“No – I'd say their window of opportunity slammed shut whenever that girl back there puked her guts out.” They went out into the parking lot. “This makes no sense... I mean, we don't have any aunts, uncles or cousins who are alive...we don't even have second cousins...”

“So it's just a wild coincidence that you and Heather Kittredge look alike.”

“No, it's something... we'll just have to find out what it is... I didn't even have a girlfriend around that time, so the only conclusion is that dad did make the same mistake twice. Only this time, the woman in question put the kid up for adoption instead of raising her herself.”

“I don't think that's the case here, Dean and the only reason I say that is because you look like mom. Maybe she had a cousin or something and we never knew about them. I can't think of another plausible reason.” Sam let out a breath.

“You're the college guy, if anyone would know, it'd be you.” He unlocked the Impala and got in. 

Sam shook his head as he got in on his side. “Okay, so we go back to the hotel and we start finding out where she came from. Because I hate to say this, but if the demon who did this puts two and two together, it's a fair bet that more demons will come after her.”

*

Heather didn't want to have to repeat the story again. She'd had a strange dream about a funny looking man telling her to wake up. She'd woken up, gotten sick and came out to find something wrong with Mr. Babcock. She seriously doubted anyone believed her when she said black smoke poured out of his mouth and shot out the window above her head. She didn't even know how a fishbowl full of saltwater could to that to a person. She rubbed her nose and glanced at the half empty bag that was attached to her wrist. “I want to go home.” She didn't want to whine, but at the moment, it was hard not to.

“I know baby.” Her mom brushed her hair out of her face. “But the doctors just want to keep you here overnight and you can come home tomorrow afternoon.”

“Is Beth going to be okay?”

“She should be fine.” Sarah Kittredge smiled encouragingly. “So are you.”

“Are you and dad going to stay here?”

“Of course we are. Your dad just went to go get coffee. You should get some rest.”

“I'm scared... what if he comes back?”

“Mr. Babcock is in custody, honey – he can't hurt you anymore.”

“What about the thing that was in him? What if he gets into someone else?”

“There's no such thing as black smoke monsters except on _Lost_. You must have imagined it.”

“Momma...” She swallowed. “I know what I saw.”

“There are enough people awake here at the hospital that if a smoke monster got in here, it would be noticed.” Sarah replied, her voice full of parental assurance. 

Heather knew that tone – it was the same one her mom had used when she was six and her cousin Peter had told her Santa Claus wasn't real. “I guess.” She snuggled back into the pillows the best she could, wincing at the pain in her arm. “How many of these do I have to have?”

“Just this one, I believe.” She leaned forward and kissed her daughter's forehead. “Now what did your daddy and I always tell you when you woke up from a nightmare?”

“That there was nothing to be afraid of.” She opened her eyes again. “And that angels were watching over me.”

“That's right, Heather Grace.” She smiled. “Get some rest... you'll feel better after you've rested.”

“What about those two guys who broke into the house? Who are they?”

“Two good Samaritans – who happened to be in the right place at the right time. Most people who heard a scream wouldn't have bothered.” She stood up. “I'm going to go talk to the doctor, you just try and get some sleep.” She kissed her daughter's forehead as she shut her eyes. “Things will be better in the morning.” 

*

Down the hall, Beth was feeling worse than Heather. Having her stomach pumped had parked itself at the worst thing she'd ever had done, she wagered the only thing that could be worse was to have a double root canal – but even then, that might not be as bad. The faint taste of plastic, vomit and her dinner of cider, turkey and potatoes was stuck in her mouth. Her memory of the past few hours was very muddled. 

She could remember downing the rest of the glass of cider and the room starting to tilt slightly. She was about to ask Molly if her mom had accidentally spiked the beverage with some kind of booze when she saw her friend slump over on her bed, immobile. Lila was already out cold. Heather, who had only drunk half of her glass looking at her before her eyes rolled back in her head and she too, fell over.

Beth's next clear memory was getting up from her sleeping bag and picking up the fish bowl. Why that particular thing and not the hockey stick that had been perched next to the desk, she didn't know. The glass shattered and she did remember seeing something come out of Mr. Babcock – but after that, she had no memory until she puked here at the hospital.

She'd seen the Ungashicks being led past her room, down the corridor that she knew led to where her father worked – the morgue. That meant one thing: Lila was dead. She had no idea what had happened to Molly – her mom had told her that Heather was down the hall recovering as well. Why they weren't keeping the two of them together... she blinked once or twice, still dizzy from the drugs she'd consumed. 

“You should get some rest, Bethy.” Her dad was sitting next to the bed, holding her hand. “There's nothing to be scared of.”

“Where's Molly?” 

“I don't know, sweetie.” He lied to her, knowing full well that Molly Babcock was lying on a metal slab, waiting to be claimed by some remaining relative.

“Was she hurt?”

“Don't worry about that, just worry about yourself.” Her mom said from her right. “You just need to rest. Hopefully, the doctors will let you come home tomorrow... but as it is, they think it will most likely be Sunday.”

“I can't miss services.” She replied stubbornly. “It's important for me to go...”

“I think the rabbi will understand your absence.” Mr. Matherstone replied, rubbing her hand with his thumb. 

Beth was to tired to cover her mouth as she yawned. “But...”

“Ssh... get some sleep.” He stood up as his daughter closed her eyes. “Looks like Josh found the most comfortable chair in the room.”

“I don't feel like sleeping.” Mrs. Matherstone managed a brave smile. “I could use some coffee, I think.”

“I'll be back shortly.” He left the room, trying to avoid the other doctor's eyes. It was both a blessing and a curse to live in a town where everyone knew everyone else – at least he could count on the hospital security to keep the press out of this place. That was the last thing any of the families involved needed. He also silently gave thanks to the two strangers who had been in the neighborhood and had heard the scream that had probably saved his daughter's life.

*

Dean had called Cas as soon as they had gotten back to the hotel. The angel arrived before he could even hang up the phone. He wasn't exactly sure what he was feeling at this point, it was anger, frustration and confusion all rolled up into one. The only thing that he couldn't believe was that his father, John Winchester, could make the same error twice – and hadn't bothered to tell his sons about it. Of course, had their father not known, that was somewhat forgivable. The entries in his journal for January of nineteen ninety-six only talked about his and Dean's birthdays and Dean's first solo hunt. He was about to start asking Castiel what he knew about it when the angel spoke.

“You were wrong about never meeting a Muse, Dean.” He sat calmly down at the table, glancing sideways at Sam, who had started looking through hospital records.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Dean replied.

“Other than angels, Muses are the only creatures who can travel through time.” 

“When the hell did I meet a Muse? Apart from Lolly or Polly or whatever her name was... and what does she have to do with Heather Kittredge? Did our dad meet a muse too and the girl's the result?”

Sam looked from one to the other, frowning. “Uh, Dean?”

“What?”

“If a Muse can travel through time, I don't think that what we were doing at the time the girl was born becomes an issue.”

“Your brother is right, Dean.” Castiel looked up at him. “Heather Kittredge is not the daughter of John Winchester. If you wish to speak biologically, she is his granddaughter.”

“That's... that's not possible.” 

“Wait a minute...” Sam cleared his throat. “Dean, it makes sense now...”

“What makes sense?” He backed away from the table. “That's just wrong, Cas... if... how could you not know about this?”

“I'm not omnipotent... the Muse, in this case I can assume we are talking about Melpomene, went to a great length of trouble to hide the child the best she could. She knew what was after you and your family.”

“That would explain why she wanted to kill Lilith..” Sam added.

“Muses rarely become attached to any one human at a time.” Castiel looked from one brother to the other. “The fact that one came close to you at all is in itself a rarity.”

Dean sat down on the corner of the bed and ran his hands through his short hair. “You said I'd remember if I met a Muse, so why the hell can't I remember her?”

“That I can not tell you.” He frowned. “I believe Melpomene did not seek you out later and inform you of what had happened was because she believed you would remain in Hell and did not wish for you to go there with that knowledge.”

“But couldn't she have gone further in time to like say, a week ago Tuesday and told me?” 

“No. That would serve no purpose and she could not have told you at the time of the girl's birth because you were seventeen at the time.”

“That's creepy...” He leaned against his legs, thinking. “So why isn't the girl with her mother?”

“Another rule handed down upon the Muses... they were allowed to remain on Earth – but if they were to...have relations with a man, if a child resulted of such relations, said child could not remain with their mother – or with their father.”

“That's horrible.” Sam replied. “So they couldn't leave the baby with the father's family?”

“No... although the father of the child, upon learning of the existence, can become part of the child's life... once they reach a certain age.”

“And that age would be?” 

“Seven for a boy, thirteen for a girl.” He replied. “The ages were agreed upon as part of Spartan law. At seven boys were turned out their homes and sent to the army. Girls, at thirteen, were married at that age. Usually to men twice their age.”

“Ew.” Dean replied. “That's just wrong.”

“Considering what the life expectancy was back then, it's not to hard to fathom.” Sam said. “If a person lived to forty, they were old.” He frowned. “I'm also guessing that the demons probably could tell that Heather was related to us... I mean, just on appearance or something...”

“Scent.” 

“What?” The brothers said at the same time.

“The demons would be able to tell she is related to you purely by her scent.”

“That's right...” Dean said, thinking back to the time when Cas had sent him to nineteen seventy three and he had encountered Azazel. “So...” He cursed under his breath. “Somehow, I don't think the Kittredges are going to believe us if we told them they were in danger from the powers of Hell.”

“There is no place on Earth for them to hide if Lucifer sends his minions after them.” The angel's voice was solemn. 

“But Heather's half... whatever you want to call it, demigod or what have you... doesn't that mean she'd have some kind of, I don't know, weird psychic ability like that Jesse kid?”

“No Dean, she does not. She is as human as you are.” He flicked his gaze towards Sam. “Although she might have a more developed sixth sense than most people.”

“If that's the case, why couldn't she tell the Babcocks were possessed?”

“I said might, Dean – it is not an absolute. Even if she does, she herself is not fully aware of it.”

“So now what do we do?” Sam broke in. “I mean, we can't just leave her here unprotected...”

“What do you suggest, Sammy? Convince her parents that demons are after her and we need to take her somewhere safe? I don't think she, her parents or Bobby would like to have the girl locked up in the panic room in Bobby's basement.”

“I don't know...I just know that any pretense of safety is pretty much gone.” He shook his head. “You have any ideas, Cas?”

“No.” He closed looked from one to the other. “I can try and contact one of the nine and see if they can offer any suggestions, although it would violate the rules.”

“These rules you keep mentioning... what happens to the Muses if they break them?”

“They are punished.” He gave the tiniest hint of a wince. “I do not know the exact details involved in the punishment... but it would be on par with the same torture that Alastair inflicted upon souls in Hell.”

Dean swallowed hard at that. He knew all to well what _that_ was like. “Who?” He didn't finish, the look on Castiel's face was answer enough. “Are you telling me that _angels_ would do that to them?”

“Yes.” 

“That's just...” He shook his head.

“I need to find the third member of Melpomene and Polyhymnia's group.... I can only deduce that it is Terpsichore.”

“The Muses travel in threes?”

“Not exactly travel... as they number nine, they stay in communication in three groups of three.” He thought for a moment. “One Muse will always know the location of three others, but never all of them. Two them in the same group and another in a different group.”

“So if they all needed to get together, they'd have a way to contact each other... right?” Sam asked.

“Yes.” Castiel stood up. “There should be no danger for the Kittredges tonight. I will return in the morning.” Before either of the brothers could say anything, he was gone.

“I don't believe this.” Dean said, rubbing his eyes. “This is just...” He shook his head and let out a deep breath. “Of all the...” 

“You want me to keep looking through records?”

“Is there any need to? Cas wouldn't have made that story up.” He fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I don't know if I should be pissed or what...”

“I don't think there's a right emotion for this kind of thing... I mean...” He shut his laptop, checked the locks on the door, as well as the salt lines – shut off the lights and went over to the other bed. “It's not like when we found that ghoul was pretending to be Adam.”

“What if we had checked the Babcock house first instead of last?” 

Sam recognized the tone in his brother's voice. It was the same one he had whenever he talked about the times he'd failed to do something. “Dean...”

“No, Sam. Don't start with the 'we didn't know' crap. This is something we should have been told... just like dad should have told us about Adam. If he'd have told us, Adam might still be alive.”

“Or he could have died a more brutal death.” Sam unlaced his boots. “I mean, hell – Heather's been hidden from a string of demons who would have killed her in a heartbeat.”

Dean kicked off his own boots. “I know that Sammy... but somehow this just adds a whole new level to this war... and raises the stakes even higher.”

“Maybe Ellen and Jo can help us on this.”

“How?”

“It's just a thought – maybe they'd seem easier to trust than the two of us?”

“Oh yeah, that will be a fun one to explain to Ellen... hell, it'd be a cake walk telling Bobby next to her.”

“Go to sleep, Dean. It's late.” Sam pulled the pillow under his chin and shut his eyes. “ We'll figure something out in the morning.”

“Whatever, Sammy...” He replied, his voice muffled by a pillow. 

*  
The demon flew faster, faster, his mind reeling from the unexpected dowsing in salt water and the fear of his failure. He'd be cast back into the deepest pits of Hell, he'd never see the light of the sun or moon again. He was disgusted at his own weakness at being unable to handle what should have been a simple task. He should have taken up the suggestion of his companion for her to stay. It would take a whole year before they could attempt to raise Famine again.

He had failed. 

Racing through the bare trees and watching animals race away from his path, he knew he couldn't hide forever – he would have to eventually own up to his disgrace. But for now, he had to hide, hide from Lucifer, hide from the Winchesters – who had told them to show up in town? Nothing made sense. He roared around a cypress tree and then found himself caught. 

A gossamer fine net kept him from moving forward or backward – or any direction at all. A bloody net was holding him at bay. How was such a thing possible? He tried stretching out one direction and found his form changing. Birds took to the sky in a huge swarm as he let out a roar, and his form – his true demon form came forth – and he was still bound tightly in a net that was the color of gold and burned against his bared flesh like hell fire. 

A hand clamped down on his mouth, completely unafraid by his form in any way. Pain ripped through his body as if he was being flayed alive, both from the net and the hand on him. The net shimmered in the darkness, fueled by a fire from within. The fine strands were made of iron cast in bronze, unbreakable and able to hold a demon in it's true form. He couldn't imagine being caught in anything worse, except perhaps a pool full of salt water with a devil's trap painted on the bottom.

There was a flash of light above his head and he could see a person in shadow holding a torch. It was a woman with black hair and after catching a brief flash of brown in her gaze, he watched her eyes, whites and all, turn an absolutely blazing shade of cerulean. He shifted his gaze to the person who had covered his mouth and saw another woman, this one a blond, but with the same eyes. “If it isn't Surgat.” 

His eyes widened in shock and recognition. 

Melpomene looked over at her sister and then back to the demon. “Oh did you pick the wrong human to go and attack.”

Surgat managed to get other hand free just enough to grab the hand that covered his mouth and pull it down. “This is not allowed... you weren't attacked...”

“Oh but we were.” Terpsichore replied as she adjusted her grip on the torch, casting the light enough so that the demon could see Polyhymnia perched just above them, holding the net closed.

“You just tried to kill the wrong human.” Melpomene said, leaning over and blinked – her eyes going back to normal. The same eyes Surgat had seen not two hours earlier – in the face of Heather Kittredge.

**

The room was in shadows, the even band of light from the hallway shone on the two adults, leaning against each other as they slept in the uncomfortable chairs. The man snores were soft and even and were in almost perfect sync as his wife's breathing. The taller man looked at the couple, a sad smile on his face. They had come here to Jasper to try and escape the troubles that were plaguing the family. The troubles found them – and were going to start multiplying rapidly. He shook his head and turned to the figure sleeping in the bed. 

Even if Cori hadn't told him, one look was all Gabriel would have needed. Doing his best to look like the doctor he was masquerading as, he picked up Heather's uninjured wrist and then looked at his watch. He waited until the doctor who was coming down the hall passed the room and then he dropped the girl's wrist and pressed his fingertips against her collarbone. 

The girl's body winced in reply, as he knew it would. It was a necessary precaution and because he wasn't a total asshole. He knew that as soon as Zachariah learned of the girl, he'd be after her to blackmail Dean Winchester. Yes, this war was insanely ugly and he wanted it to be over. But if there was one thing he did _not_ want to see, it was an angel possessed thirteen year old girl going after Lucifer.

He knew that Castiel would recognize the Enochian symbols as his handiwork. He didn't care – and who knew, maybe the girl could finally talk some sense into his brother. He turned and left the room, narrowly avoiding a reaper who was racing down the hallway towards the ICU. 

*

Dean was dreaming of Key West again. Not of the Last Calusa, thankfully – but of what happened afterwards. He was standing in Captain Tony's, scanning the crowd. It wasn't nearly as busy as the last time he'd been there – even though the band Grand Skim Latte was playing again. Right now, they were doing a cover of Billy Joel's 'Uptown Girl.' Most everyone there seemed to be with someone – until he caught sight of a woman, a little younger than him, leaning against the bar. As he approached he watched her throw back a shot of whiskey without flinching. _Damn._ “Hey.” This was what he called a stroke of amazing luck. Not only was this woman the best looking girl in the place, she was alone. The dark washed jeans she was wearing left very little to the imagination of the lower part of her body and the red T-shirt she was wearing advertised some band he'd never heard of called 'Cowboy Mouth.'

She turned and looked him over. “Hey yourself.” 

“You want another one?” The bartender nodded at the shot. 

“Yeah.”

“What can I get you?” He said to Dean.

“I'll have one of what she's having.”

“Sure.” He refilled the woman's glass and added a second shot glass for him.

“I'm Dean.” He said to the woman as she tossed back the second shot.

She smiled as she set the glass down, wrong side up. She pushed her honey-blond hair out of her face, smiling and revealing that her eyes were a bright shade of blue. “Nice to meet you Dean. My name's Penny.”

In the quiet hotel room in Indiana, Dean sat straight up, breathing hard. Now he remembered – the woman from Key West who'd he woke up next to the night after he, Sam and Bobby had defeated the Last Calusa. The woman who's name he couldn't remember at the time – and she hadn't remembered his.

_Or pretended not to..._

“Damn it all...” He fell back, covering his face with his hands. In the stillness of the night and in the corners of his mind he could hear Eric Clapton's 'Wonderful Tonight' echoing in the memory of the events that happened in Key West.

***

“You had everything you needed...” Lucifer glared down at the female demon who'd been possessing Alice Babcock and was now inhabiting the body of a runaway teenager. “You practically had this whole thing on a plate...” He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back to stare into her eyes. “You and Surgat said you could handle this..”

“I'm...”

“Silence! I don't want any excuses or apologies from you.” He snarled and flung her against the floor. Blood spilled from the corners of her mouth and she tried to discreetly spit out a tooth. “You could have gone down that hallway and possessed the last girl to make sure it got done!” He kicked her in the stomach, hard. He could hear the trapped human soul screaming in agony. “It's to late to make amends... there's no way to find four more girls before the full moon.”

“Please...” The demon hacked once, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “Please...”

“And since Samuel Winchester is with his brother, I can't get at him either...” He glared down at her. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't end your worthless existence and not send you into the Great Oblivion.”

At this, the demon slowly raised her head and licked her lips. “I have one...” 

“And that is?”

“The third girl...” 

“What about her?” Lucifer's eyes narrowed.

“She smells, my lord.”

“All humans smell... the one you're wearing smells particularly nasty... I should have you bathe before I destroy you.”

“But that girl...” She felt the corners of her mouth involuntarily rise as she spoke. “Smells like a _Winchester_.” 

The fallen angel's expression changed from rage to surprise. He crouched down and lifted the demon's chin, staring into her eyes. “So there's another one, is there?”

“It would seem... she smells the way they do.”

“Well then...” He stood up, smiling. “You may have a chance to get back on my good side.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What's this girl's name again?”

“Heather Kittredge, my lord.”

“I want you to return to Jasper... possess the girl's mother... and bring the girl here. It doesn't matter what her relationship to the brothers is... we can count on Dean Winchester's desire to keep his family safe to help us. They will come to her rescue and then Samuel will find himself in between a rock and a hard place.” He smiled. “And then I can get out of this body and into my proper vessel.”

“Yes, my lord.” She swallowed. “What about Mr. Kittredge?”

“Azazel's curse on the families connected to those who failed will get him soon enough.” 

**

Dean woke up on Saturday morning, and after retrieving coffee for him and Sam from the free breakfast offered by the hotel, he started flipping through the back section of his father's journal. This was the area where John had put things that were hoaxes, scams and completely random information. Whereas just reading the regular part of the book would convince you that the man had issues, the back of the book merely confirmed it. There was even a few articles about the curses on Major League Baseball teams and a few notes on possible theories on the New York Yankees and their multiple World Series wins. He didn't know what he was looking for, exactly – only that he was thinking that someway, somehow his father had seen something, heard something...

Exactly how many times had the Winchester family come to Indiana in the past thirteen years? He knew he'd been here at least three times in the past two years. It was probably a good thing that Cas had told him that Muses couldn't be killed – because he had the urge to hunt down Melpomene and at least smack her across the face, or something.

Y _eah, right – she didn't tell you because she couldn't tell you – and Lisa Braden was probably lying to you._

“Damn it...” He'd done his best to shut Lisa and her son Ben out of his mind. He didn't want that kind of weight on his shoulders too. At the time he'd just accepted her story that he wasn't Ben's father. But now that he stopped and thought about it, the other man story seemed just a little to – convenient. A _re you only pissed because you find out you actually have a kid and it's a girl?_ He was about to slam the journal shut and get some coffee when he caught sight of a small clipping that had been hidden, tucked behind a postcard from Roswell, New Mexico. The date in the corner was _September 24, 1996_. It was the date that made him pause because of it's closeness to Heather's birthday. He unfolded the small clipping and read the headline: _Newborn Infant Found in Local Fire Station_. “Damn.” He scanned it not really paying attention to most of it. He knew that in some states, a baby could be left at a hospital or a fire station no questions asked. He just didn't think it was actually done. Apart from that man in Nebraska who'd taken advantage of the 'any child' rule and left all of his kids at a local hospital – the oldest had almost been eighteen years old. The baby in this case had been a girl found on Sunday morning. It was that when he noticed that his father had underlined something and had a note on the blank space from where it'd been cut. In his father's very messy handwriting he could read: _Try and look this girl up in six months_. He looked at the underlined portion – it was the address of the fire station where the baby had been found: _12479 Winchester Road, Lexington, Kentucky._

“Oh you got to be kidding me...”

“What?” Sam said groggily as sat up.

“This.” He said, setting the piece of paper on the table and took a big swig of coffee. “Either this is a wild coincidence or it's something else...”

“Let me see...” Sam came over to the table and picked up the article. After reading it, he sat down. “That... is scary.” He pulled the second cup of coffee towards him and took a swig. “Where were we in March of ninety-seven?”

“California, I think...” He shook his head. “I know we were in Indiana in November...”

“Wait... I remember that it was only supposed to be what, two weeks and it turned into a month?”

“Yeah...” He took a sip of coffee. “You think that _this_..” He tapped the article once. “Is what he was doing the other two?”

“I don't know... I mean... and why would dad go looking in the first place?” Sam pulled the journal over and opened it up to the back. “Dad have anything on Muses in here?”

“You think if he ever met one he'd have told us. Maybe then we'd know what to look out for.”

“Dean...” He shook his head. “I don't see what you're so pissed about. I mean hell, until last night, Heather Kittredge had the life we always wanted...a home, a family and apple pie...”

“...and that just came crashing down around her and Beth Matherstone. Tell me something Sam... how in the world are Stephen and Sarah Kittredge supposed to keep their daughter safe from demons?”

“Would you care this much if she wasn't...” He tried to find the best way to phrase it and failed. “Okay, if she wasn't related to us, would you still care this much?”

“She's a kid, Sammy.” He took a long sip of coffee, his mind starting to go into overdrive. “Melpomene went to a great deal of trouble to hide her once... what do we do when the demons... what do we do when _Lucifer_ finds out about this?”

“What are you suggesting, Dean? Kidnapping her?”

“You can bet that will be at the top of _his_ list when he finds out... and don't even tell me that Zachariah won't be after her too. Given what we know about them, they probably won't give a damn if she lives or dies.”

“And you do.” Sam was trying to get Dean to admit what he was feeling – because honestly, it was about time he did.

“Of course I care! That's what we do, we save innocent people, I'd say she qualifies!”

“So even if she wasn't...oh hell, I may as well say it – if Heather wasn't your biological daughter, you'd still care this much?”

“If she wasn't related to us, she'd not be in this much danger!”

“That's not answering the question.”

“Yes, it is. She's in trouble the same way all of mom's friends were in trouble – the way all those people around us died. So now we have a chance to do something about it and...”

“Dean...” He set a hand on his brother's shoulder. “We'll figure something out. We might have to resort to kidnapping or....” He shrugged. “I don't know... convince her to runaway from home.”

“Why would she runaway from home?”

“If she thinks demons are after her and wants to keep her parents safe?” He pulled his laptop towards him and turned it on. “I think we should tell Bobby what's going on.”

“I'll do it.” He picked up his cell and scanned through the numbers, checking the time before hitting the dial, as Jasper was an hour ahead of Sioux Falls. “He hasn't a good excuse to chew me out for something in a few weeks, this should get him through Christmas.”

*

Castiel stood outside the large abandoned barn that looked as if one strong breeze would cause it to collapse. If there was a middle of nowhere in Indiana, this was it. At one time, it had been located in the middle of a barn yard that had stood next to a huge farm that had grown sorghum and soybeans. Now all traces of the farm, save this barn, were gone. Trees had encroached upon the land, hiding it from view. He followed the thin trail of the demon into these woods when it had been cut off by three stronger trails – that he knew had been deliberately. 

There were Enochian wards carved into the eastern and western walls – and wards to dispel demons north and south. It was apparent that whatever the three in the barn were up to, they did not want to be surprised. Standing in front of the entrance he looked down at the ground for a rock to throw against the door, as the glowing wards prevented him from knocking. As he picked up a stone the size of his fist and prepared to hurl it forward, he stopped short. 

“I was wondering how long it would take you to find us.” 

“Melpomene.” He said flatly to the woman standing in the open doorway. 

“If you wish to come in, you may come in.” She backed up a few steps, allowing him entry. 

He dropped the rock before he moved forward and he paused when he stood level with her. “When did you and Dean Winchester meet?”

“That was a lovely euphemism, Castiel.” She motioned with her fingers and the doors shut behind them. “And the answer to your question is two years ago this January.”

“Key West.” 

“Very good... and I'm afraid all details about the rest of it aren't fit for your ears... furthermore, a lady never kisses and tells. I doubt you'd get any details out of him either.” She turned on her heel and went under a large beam into the middle part of the barn. “Sisters, we have company.”

Castiel followed her and saw the devil's trap painted on the ceiling. In the center of the trap was a demon pinned down by a large net. He swallowed hard at the bindings on the creature – hoping they were secure. He had seen this monster during the siege in Hell. Surgat – one of the many generals at Lucifer's command. It was rumored that he and Alistair were brothers, true brothers, but that had never been proven and no one really wanted to do that kind of research. “Is this who was in Nicholas Babcock.”

“The one and only.” Polyhymnia said from her stance on the second level of the barn, looking down at him, her hands on her hips. “Unfortunately, he doesn't feel much like talking...”

“Go to Hell, bitch.” Surgat muttered from his binding.

“Can't we just kill him? Please?” A voice said from behind Castiel and he turned and saw the third sister, Terpsichore, leaning against a beam. “He doesn't seem to want to tell us anything else...”

“We can't kill him until we agree on _how_ to kill him.” Melpomene said.

“Jabber all you want, you overgrown crows, I'll get out of here.”

In response, the Muse kicked him and he grunted in pain. “Who are you calling a crow, you overgrown newt with wings?”

“What's an angel doing here anyway?” 

“Cori, manners.” Polly said. “He's not like most angels we've run into over the years.”

“I ran into one just yesterday, don't tell me what angels are like.” 

Castiel turned towards her. “Whom did you encounter?”

“I'll give you five guesses, but you'd probably only need one.”

He raised his head. “Gabriel.”

“Give the angel a cookie.” She came over to stand next to her sister. “You're not pissed I told him, are you Penny?”

“No, no I'm not. Polly, why don't you come down here?”

“I like it up here.” She sat down on the edge of the loft, swinging her legs. “Besides, someone has to keep watch.”

“You can all die.” Surgat said, his voice raspy and weak. “Slowly and painfully.” He gave Castiel a very wicked grin. “What's the matter, angel? Can't go burning my eyes out like you've done to so many of my brethren?”

All three of the Muses turned and stared at Castiel while the demon laughed, spitting out blood. Polly was the one who recovered from her shock first. “Maybe he doesn't want to smite you in front of girls. It's quite smelly, from what I remember.”

“Why don't you all just fuck him now and help him finish falling? I promise I won't watch.” 

Cori and Penny exchanged glances and a moment later, Castiel found himself standing next to Polly in the loft. “What is...”

“Oh no...” She stood and knocked him to the ground, covering his ears as something hard hit the wall above them. “Don't look...” 

The angel was utterly paralyzed at the sensation of someone half his size holding him against the ground. It was both shocking and not all together unpleasant. The fact the strong scent of lilies filled his senses didn't help either. “What?”

“He said the wrong thing...” Her voice was right next to his ear, and he could hear the fear in it. “He made Penny mad...” She looked over her shoulder down into the barn just in time to see a flash of silver and bronze before it became stained crimson. 

An unholy scream echoed through the building, shaking it. It was followed by another and then another. Each wave of sound rippled through Castiel, buffeting against him like the wind. He wagered that if Polyhymnia had not been shielding him, he'd have been slammed into the wall. He knew what was happening down below and why he had to be protected in this matter. Now that they knew he wasn't in contact with Heaven, any powers of protection he had were finite.

Melpomene was the only Muse known to carry a weapon. The sword was rumored to be the fifth blade forged in Hades – fitting, as the Muse of Tragedy was the fifth daughter. At least seven fictional blades were believed to be inspired by it – it couldn't kill an angel, but it could wound, like dead man's blood to a vampire. How, Cas didn't want to find out. As for what it could to do mere humans – he didn't want to know. 

The silence was more deafening than the screams had been. He felt the Muse sit up, pulling away from him. “You okay?”

He stared at her. “I am uninjured.” He turned and stared down from the loft. Penny's back was to him, but he could tell from the motions she was cleaning the sword. Terpsichore glanced at them once and then vanished. The demon was dead. Several wounds still bled from his back and even from here, Castiel could see the black skin around the entry points, where the flesh had been charred. 

“Polly, take Castiel out of here. I'll take care of the body... and this barn.”

“Sure.” She turned and picked up the net where it had been thrown and folded it over until it was no bigger than a handkerchief. She then dropped it into her inner coat pocket. “Let's go.” She set a hand on the angel's shoulder and flashed them outside of the barn. “I'm guessing you didn't come out here to find that demon.”

“No.” He looked down at her. “It is believed the Kittredges are still in danger. Dean Winchester and his brother wish to know if you or your sister have any ideas on how to keep them safe.”

“Of course the Kittredges are in danger.” Penny had come up next to them just as the barn behind them burst into flames. “There isn't a way to keep them safe. Not all of them.” There was pain in her voice as she spoke. “I do know, however – that Stephen Kittredge is a little more informed about the world then he lets on.” A strong breeze swept through the clearing and the smoke of the fire swept upwards and then slowly abated.

“How are you certain of that?” Castiel said, his eyebrows moving down slightly.

“Because in nineteen seventy three, when Azazel made a deal with his sister, he also offered a similar deal to him. He refused and tried to convince his sister to do the same.”

“Did he know what Azazel was?”

“He suspected.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets. “There's something else you should know.”  
“What is that?”

“Stephen Kittredge knew John Winchester.” Polly spoke up. “They served in Vietnam together.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“You want us to take you back to seventy-two and prove it?” Melpomene turned back to the barn and held up her hand, willing the fire to slowly dissipate. There was a crash as the roof collapsed in on itself. “Shortly after the death of Mary Winchester, Stephen Kittredge cut off contact with John. Or it was the other way around... either way...” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You're forgetting two very important facts, Castiel.”

“What is that?” He came over to her and stared into her eyes. He knew that they couldn't intervene directly, but the more they talked, the less time they had.

“Heather's is thirteen. The time of forbidden contact has officially run out. You're also forgetting what parents will sacrifice to keep their children safe.”

“We've left our children on the doorsteps of strangers, trusting in Provenance.” Polly stood next to her sister, holding her hand and Castiel could see the elder squeeze the hand of the younger. “Because we know what would happen if we left them with their fathers. We trust that Stephen Kittredge will do what must be done.” And then they were gone. 

The angel stepped towards the smoldering ruins of the barn, frowning. He didn't know what they had meant by Stephen Kittredge doing the right thing. Then it occurred to him exactly _what_ the man could do. As the girl was thirteen, there was nothing preventing Dean from having contact with her. Even if they didn't know about both halves of her parentage. But she couldn't just disappear with the Winchester brothers. They were in just as much danger as she was. _And Sam and Dean can protect her much better from a good portion of that evil than her parents currently can._ He frowned, remembering that Terpsichore mentioned she had run into Gabriel yesterday. So now he knew as well. 

He thought vaguely of Jesse... the powerful half-demon boy who had run away from his parents rather than see them killed. The question was – would Heather Kittredge do the same thing? _Don't be stupid, Castiel. If she's got an ounce of Winchester behavior in her body, she'd do it in a heartbeat._


	4. A Day In the Life

When Heather came home from the hospital on Saturday afternoon, it was apparent that the word had gotten out of what had happened. In a town this size, word of mouth was faster than anything else – including the Internet. The answering machine had a grand total of fifty messages – half of them were from the teachers of both Jasper Elementary and Jasper Middle Schools. The other half were from her mom's coworkers and a bunch of kids who she went to school with whom she knew in name but not by sight. She was still groggy, despite the good night's sleep – the doctors had told her that particular problem should be gone by Sunday morning. Being tired Heather could handle - more than anything, she just wanted to shut out what had happened. 

Now, her mother could tell her a thousand times that she'd imagined the smoke monster that had come out of Mr. Babcock and maybe, at the one-thousandth and first time she might believe her. But what she couldn't deny was the fact that she looked like one of the two men who'd come into the house. That was, in a word, plain as the nose on her face. Sarah and Stephen Kittredge had never hidden the fact that their daughter was adopted and even though she'd always known it, Heather had never given much thought to her birth parents. 

Of course, since the man – what had his name been? She could only vaguely remember the details and that the other one, the tall one – had been named Sam. If she heard the other one's name, she didn't remember it. But he'd taken a look at her and been just as shocked as she was. Had the situation not been so traumatic and horrifying, it might have been funny. But those two men were probably long gone by now – headed home or headed somewhere else. No one at the hospital had gotten their names and no one had seen them before. 

Heather curled up in her desk chair, tucking her knees under her chin, wondering just what _had_ been wrong with Mr. Babcock. Molly had said that her parents were being way to nice – had there been something wrong with Mrs. Babcock too? She tapped her fingers on her closed laptop, thinking. _Well, the world is full of crazy people. Maybe someone else has seen a smoke monster that wasn't related to Lost – and maybe someone told them they imagined it too – but they didn't._ Flipping the computer open, she decided that there wasn't any harm in looking. 

*

Three hours later, when her mom called her for dinner, Heather was a little wiser and a great deal more confused. She'd started with possession – and found a few cases of people who claimed they'd been possessed. There was even a girl, a little younger than her from New Harmony, Indiana who claimed she'd been overtaken by a demon who'd murdered her grandparents while in her body. There were also two highly amusing young men who called themselves the 'Ghostfacers' and told her how to kill a ghost via salt and burning. Given that several other sites had mentioned salt as a protectorate from evil, that might explain why the smoke came out of Mr. Babcock when Beth hit him with the fishbowl. 

She came downstairs and slid into her chair in the kitchen, not feeling much like eating, but knowing better than to try and avoid it. The fresh smell of oregano and basil seeped from under the covered pot as her mom set down a basket full of bread and then sat down across from her as her father shut the book he was reading and then they said grace.

“I have to go to Bloomington this Monday.” Stephen said as he put some salad on his plate. “That lecture I said I would do for the education majors up at Indiana University.” He passed the salad bowl to Heather. “I should be back for dinner.” He took a deep breath. “Your nights didn't get changed again, did they Sarah?”

“No.” She smiled as she buttered her bread. “I should be home at five.” She turned to Heather. “So don't forget your keys on Monday.”

Heather, who'd been poking at her salad looked up. “I don't know if I want to go to school on Monday.”  
“I don't know if leaving you here alone is the best idea...”

“I can watch myself. I'm thirteen.” She swallowed. “I... I just don't want to go to school... I mean...”

“Sarah, it's perfectly understandable. I'll talk to Lydia Craig. I seriously doubt she's going to hold it against Heather if she doesn't want to go to school Monday, or even the rest of the week.”

“I'll do my homework... I just... I just don't to go and have to answer questions... not yet, anyway.”

“Eat your dinner, baby girl.” Sarah gave her a hint of a smile. “We'll see, okay?”

“Sure mom.” She speared a chunk of lettuce on her fork and started to eat.

*

Stephen Kittredge had believed his daughter when she had said that black smoke had poured out of Nicholas Babcock. Twelve years ago, he'd seen it come out of someone himself... when John Winchester paid a visit to Indianapolis. Sarah had never known about the man's visit – she had gone to a librarian's conference in Florida. Heather, of course, at fourteen months, had been to young to remember the visit. It had been obvious to both men from almost the very start. John, of course, didn't want to go into details and had decided to let the subject of how exactly it was possible take a back seat from the case he'd been working on. He was still pursuing the monster that had killed Mary at the time.

The last time he had heard from John Winchester was in two-thousand five, when he called from somewhere in the west, and the conversation had lasted exactly two minutes. In the first minute, he informed his old friend from the Marines to keep Heather safe – and in the second, he gave Stephen a phone number and told him that if anything 'odd' happened around her, to call him at once. That had been four years ago and Stephen knew that most people didn't keep their cell phone numbers that long.   
He had noticed the two men sitting outside Heather's room at the hospital yesterday. He had recognized them as John's boys, despite the fact that he'd only seen either of them in pictures – well, he'd met Dean, but that was nearly thirty years ago. He flipped through his address book as he sat in his office in the basement. With the door shut, he knew that Sarah wouldn't be disturbing him and he could hear his daughter moving around in her room above him. Hell, it was worth a shot if seeing the number still worked. 

“I should have called him when Ava disappeared...” He muttered as he punched the buttons on his own cell. He and John were as unlikely a pair of men as possible. They'd met in basic training years ago, John joined the Marines for the fact he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting into college – or being able to afford it. Stephen had joined due to a feeling of duty – and to avoid being drafted into a less favorable position in the Marines – he'd ended up flying helicopter ambulances. John was from Lawrence, Kansas and he was from Paducah, Kentucky. In another lifetime, they would have met as opponents on a football or basketball team – not as fellow soldiers. The phone rang once, twice, three times and then, between the fourth and fifth ring, it finally picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello, John, it's Stephen Kittredge.”

“I'm afraid John can't come to the phone right now.”

“Do you know when he will be available? This is rather important.”

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but John Winchester died four years ago.”

Stephen cursed under his breath. “Who is this, then?”

“This is his son, Dean. How the hell did you know my father?”

“That's a very long story.”

Seven miles away, Dean frowned. This was an unexpected development in the situation. He pulled his father's journal towards him and flipped through it, on instinct, to November of nineteen ninety-seven. A page had been torn out. “I take you don't want to give me any answers over the phone.”

“That would probably be for the best.” Stephen's voice was flat.

“I'm going to give you an address. Be there in one hour.” 

*  
“Are you sure about this Dean?” Sam said for the third time in thirty minutes. 

“The page before the missing one in dad's journal says he was going to see an old friend from his days in the Marines while he was in Indianapolis. I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts that Kittredge is the person in question.”

“But if that's the case, then dad would have known about Heather.”

“Thus explaining the missing page.” Dean said, with a wry smile. “I think Bobby's in a good mood finally... he chewed me out for about twenty minutes this morning.”

“Well, in your defense, I think you were really, really drunk that night in Key West.”

“Considering how many spirits I had coursing through me for the first part of the night, I felt it was required.”

“No arguments there.” Sam replied as there was a knock on the door. “I was hoping Cas would be back by now.”

“Maybe he got a lead on God while he was out.” Dean replied as Sam checked the peephole before opening the door. 

*

Hours later, Dean stared at the ceiling of the hotel room, willing himself to fall asleep and finding it next to impossible. Tomorrow, he and Sam would leave Jasper and head south, aiming for Nashville. They would then circle back north, heading for Bloomington, Indiana. On Monday morning, at exactly nine thirty, they were expected to be at a small roadside park halfway between here and there. Stephen Kittredge would meet them there – and then, they would leave for South Dakota, taking Heather with them. When he got home from Bloomington, Mr. Kittredge would explain things to his wife – and then they would act as if Heather had run away. Since they'd have at least a seven hour head start, the Winchesters would be somewhere in Iowa by then. 

It wouldn't be permanent, that was made very clear. As soon as the worst of the danger was over, Heather was to come back home. In Dean's mind, that meant when Lucifer was back where he belonged. If things started to go their way, for example, they actually found the Colt – then this whole thing could be over by Christmas. He wasn't planning on it, but hell, he'd have Heather back to her parents by the time she turned fourteen at the latest. Granted, he knew that Bobby wouldn't be to pleased to have a house-guest for that time, but hell... wasn't he constantly talking about how family didn't end with blood?

**

Dawn was just breaking over the vast cemetery in Normandy. The white cairns stretched outward, a stark contrast to the brown grass that heralded the long winter. In the stillness, a lone figure walked, past stones engraved with names and a myriad of birth dates. But for many of them, these sons slain so far from home, the date of death was the same: June fourth, nineteen forty-four. Near the end of a row, the figure crouched down and set her hand against the stone. Where this man still alive, today he would be eighty four years old. A tear slid down the figure's cheek as she set a small bundle of bluebells at the marker. 

“Did I ever tell you what a nice name you have? Nathaniel. I do hope someone explained to you why I left you there, with your parents. You were a very pretty baby.” She slowly turned her head as she felt someone approaching. “Why are you following me?” She stood up.

Castiel said nothing for a moment. He looked from her to the tombstone and then back, understanding instantly. “I'm sorry.”

“I never did get to see him all grown up... I've not seen him since the day he was born.” Polyhymnia did her best to remain calm. “I'll ask you again, why are you following me?”

The angel stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat, wincing ever so slightly at the cold. “I need your help.”

“If you're referring to the situation in Indiana, I believe that's been handled.”

“It's not that. The Winchesters don't need your help... _I_ need _your_ help.”

“Help with what, exactly? You might currently be an angel in rebellion, but you're still an angel, Castiel. I'm just about a step above the majority of all the pagan scum. Your kind doesn't like me or my sisters. I also know that if you are ever issued the order to find a way to get rid of us, I'm first on the list for execution. I don't know how I can possibly help you, unless you want me to find you a choir to hide in, or something.”

He took a step towards her. “No. It is not that.” A part of him absolutely hated that he was doing this, another part was partially relieved and the remaining part of him was angry that he even had to do this. “I need your help in finding God.”

Polly blinked at him, surprised. “I thought all of you angels knew where He was. I thought He was in your paradise.”

“Others have told me different. I need to find Him so that Lucifer can be stopped before it's to late.”

“And you think I know where He is why?”

“I know you don't know where He is.” He swallowed once before continuing. “But I can not do this alone and I do not have anyone else I can ask.”

“If I do this, we will both be in a considerable amount of trouble when it is over.” She turned away form the grave and came towards him. “If we fail at this, you'll be sent into the Great Oblivion and I'll be in chains for several hundred years.” She shook her head. “Even if we succeed, I'll be put in chains anyway. This sort of... fraternization is about as forbidden as it gets.” She took a deep breath and then looked up at him. “I will still need to take care of my other obligations.”

“As will I.” Castiel blinked as it started to snow. “So you will do it?”

“Well, as a wise man once said, there are things worth dying for. I'd say helping save the world is at the top of the list.” The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “I'd also say this is worth the amount of trouble I'll get into for doing it.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My only question is, where do you want to start?”

“With a thank you.” The angel held out his hand which she took. He could see the faint scars on both of her cheeks from the last time she had been kept in chains, four hundred years ago. That was one other thing he remembered about the Muses. None of them, not a single one of them when they were bound in chains that burned with holy fire did they scream. They withstood that pain without a word. 

“You're welcome.” Polly responded as she squeezed his hand with hers. 

**

The demon slipped through shadows, flying on her new mission. While she was determined that it would be easy, so very easy, she refused to let her guard down. The house was pathetically easy to slip into. She shied away from the crucifix and holy water font at the foot of the stairs. She could avoid that easily – there was only one other one, and that hung in Heather Kittredge's room. She slid under the doorway of the master bedroom and to the right side of the bed.

Sarah Kittredge was deep in slumber as the demon slid into her body. She felt the woman panic for the briefest of moments before the demon started filling through her thoughts, her memory, everything. Stockpiling facts and gathering mannerisms until the demon was almost fully integrated with her. Only then the demon settle down, shoving the true Sarah Kittredge into the back of her own mind. The demon woke for a moment to glance at the clock. It was just after one in the morning. She pulled the warm blankets under her chin and she snuggled her face into the pillow. This bed was far more comfortable than the one at the Babcock's home. 

She just had to wait a few days, that was all. 

**

Sunday was blessedly uneventful, after the last two days, the less complication the better. The only thing that varied from the norm in the Kittredge family was that Sarah stated she was suffering from a migraine and didn't go to church with her husband and daughter. This wasn't the first time it'd happened, so Stephen thought nothing of it. He tried not think about how this Christmas would be during the homily when the priest was talking about Advent being a season of preparation and joy. There'd be a family member missing – unless a miracle occurred. He had resigned himself that this was for the best and he and his wife's sorrow was worth their little girl being safe.

Monday morning, however, was hectic as it always was. Even though she adamantly refused to go to school today, Heather came downstairs at six thirty for her morning glass of juice and turned the coffee pot on for her parents. She had a feeling that Beth wasn't going to be going to school either... and it would be nice to get together with her and just... talk, or something. Of course, Molly and Lila had been friends with Beth since they were all in preschool, so she wouldn't be surprised if took her more than a few days before she wanted to speak to anyone. That was okay with Heather, she didn't want to push.

“Morning.” Sarah came into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Are you sure you'll be okay here by yourself?”

“I'll be fine, mom. Is there anything I can do for you?” She bit her lip. “I don't know... clean the bathroom or something?”

The demon was almost laughing at how easy she was fooling this girl. “If you want to, sweetie.” She paused. “Could you dust and vacuum the front room, we might get the Christmas decorations out this week.”

“We don't have a tree yet, mom. We gave ours to the Saint John's rummage sale before we moved.”

“Maybe we can convince your father to get a real tree this year. Wouldn't that be nice?”

“I guess...I'll clean up the room.” She refilled her glass and went back upstairs. “What is in that medication for her migraines...” 

Sarah poured herself a cup of coffee as a thump sounded on the porch as the paper arrived. “Oh why don't you stay home tomorrow too, little girl... you and mommy can go say you're going to get a tree... and daddy will come home to an empty house.” She took a big gulp of the scalding hot coffee, delighting in the burn down her throat. 

**

Wesley hugged his bag to him as his dad maneuvered their sedan down their driveway and onto the street. It'd been a few days since he'd seen the person in the hallway – and even now he wasn't entirely convinced if it had been a dream or not. He knew, at ten years of age, he was far to big to be making up stories. He sighed. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“How old is our house?” He asked as his dad slowed at a stop sign.

“It's pretty old...” He thought for a moment. “I think it was built before the War of Eighteen Twelve. Why you ask?”

“I was just wondering... that's all.”

Wesley's father frowned. “Did you notice something wrong in the house?”

“No... no...” He sighed. “Well, could our house be haunted?”

“If we have a ghost in the house, I've never seen it... why do you think there is one?”

“I... I sort of saw someone in the hallway.. it was right after Thanksgiving... and he vanished into thin air.”

Noah, Wesley's father, chuckled. “I think you might have had a little to much to eat... you were probably dreaming.”

“Yeah... probably.” He sighed as his father turned into the circle drive of his school. “There's no such things as ghosts, right?”

“The general consensus on that is no, but it's yet to be completely proven one way or another.” He gave his son a cheerful smile as he stopped the car. “If we have a ghost, that could explain all our missing socks in the laundry.”

“I think the missing socks were turned to dryer lint.” He unfastened his seat belt. “I'll see you later dad.”

“Have a good day, son.”

He opened the door. “I'll try.” He shouldered his bag and headed into school.

**

In keeping with routine, the demon took a shower, got dressed and packed herself a small lunch of leftover pasta before leaving for work. As she shrugged into her coat, she saw Stephen come down to the kitchen for his second cup of coffee. “Now, what time did you say you'd be back from Bloomington?”

He set his coat on one of the chair-backs and then his briefcase in the seat. “No later than five-thirty. I'll call if I'm going to be late.” He came over and kissed her on the cheek. “Have a good day.”

“You too.” She smiled and picked up her purse and keys. “Anything in particular you want for dinner?”

“Oh, just about anything is good. After a lunch provided by campus dining, I'd probably be happy with peanut butter and jelly.” They both laughed as Sarah put on her coat. 

“I'll see you tonight.” She went into the garage and a moment later, Stephen heard the door open, the car start up and pull away. After he heard the door close again, he walked to the front room and watched the car drive away. He then put his coffee mug down and went upstairs. He knocked once on Heather's door before opening it.

“Dad?” Heather looked up from the book she was reading. “What's wrong?”

“Do you know where your duffel bag is? The big green one you packed last May?”

“Yeah, it's in my closet, why?”

“I want you to get it out, pack as many of your clothes into it as you possibly can.”

“What's going on?”

“Just do it. Quickly.”

“O...Okay...” She got up and went to her closet and pulled the bag down from her shelf and opened her dresser and started to empty it of it's contents. Heather was worried. Her dad had never acted like this that she could remember. She heard him go downstairs into the basement but she kept packing, going into the bathroom to get things like her toothbrush and other items. “Please don't be sending me to Aunt Shelly's house.” She zipped the full bag closed, glancing once into her closet to see that she'd left most of her skirts and dresses hanging up. After emptying her backpack of her schoolbooks, she put her laptop, her I-pod, its charger, a sketchbook, a battered teddy bear she'd had forever and her autographed copy of D.J. MacHale's _Raven Rise._ She was wondering if there was anything else she should pack when her father came back into the room and handed her two items. One was her passport and the other was a thick white envelope. She recognized it at once. “This is the emergency fund.” 

“This is an emergency. Put those in your backpack. I'll explain in the car.” He turned the light out in her room, picked up her bag and went downstairs. 

Heather did as asked, adding the snapshot of her and her parents and her wallet to the bag before following her dad, stopping in the downstairs hallway to get her coat. She frowned when she passed the stairs – he'd turned the TV on and the second disc in the _Return of the King_ box set was playing.

“Hurry.” Stephen took the backpack and put it into the trunk of his car. “Don't open the door.”

“Daddy, you're scaring me.” Heather stood on the step leading down to the garage, noting that her father looked nervous. 

“Get in the backseat and sit on the floor. Please.” 

Part of her wanted to demand an answer, but the look on the man's face was enough for her to know that now was not the time to be obstinate. She did as asked and as she shut the door, she heard the garage door opening. 

Stephen got into the car and glanced back at her. “I love you baby girl, you know that, right?”

“Yes, dad. I love you too.” She swallowed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Heather, you didn't.” He started the car up and they pulled away from the house. “A long time ago, back when I was in basic training in the Marines, I met a man named John Winchester. He was from Kansas and he was a pretty decent guy. We went to Vietnam together and when that was over, he went home to Lawrence and I went to school in Lexington.” He took a breath. “Anyway, I finished school and started working in Louisville and he kept in the family business of auto mechanics.”

“You met mom in Louisville.”

“That's right. Well, John eventually married a woman named Mary and they had two kids, Dean and Sam. Well, when Sam was six months old, there was a fire at their house and Mary died.”

“That's awful.” She rubbed her nose and reached over to get a Kleenex from the box on the floor behind the driver's seat.

“Yeah, it was. Well, after that John sort of went off the deep end. He was convinced that it wasn't the fire that killed her, but something else. So he spent the rest of his life traveling across the country, trying to find out what killed her.” He shook his head. “I thought he was crazy at first.”

“Did he find it?”

“Yeah... yeah he did. And in the end, the same thing killed him.” He sighed. “You don't remember this, but back when you were just a year old, John came to see us in Indianapolis. He's the one who gave you that bear you're so damn fond of.”

“Mom knows him?”

“She didn't know about the visit, she was in Florida for one of those conferences she goes to.” He took the turn onto the rural highway a little slower than he normally would have. “A demon killed Mary and John Winchester. This particular demon is dead, but there's still more out there.”

“Like the one that killed Lila and Molly?” She bit her lip. “That's what killed them, right?”

“Yes. Remember those two men who found you and Beth?”

“Uh huh.” That was a clear understatement. As muddled as that night seemed, she could remember the two men clearly – well, one of them at least.

“Well, those were the Winchester brothers – Sam and Dean. Now, they can explain these things better than I can, because my knowledge of this world is limited.”

A cold feeling of dread sank into Heather's stomach. “Daddy, where are we going?”

“I'm going to Bloomington.” He swallowed hard. “You're going with the Winchesters.”

“Why?”

“Because they can keep you safer than I can.”

“Is this because one of them looks like me?”

“Dean will explain that to you. He's the one you look like.” Stephen kept his eyes straight ahead. A truck passed by them going the other direction. “When the danger's over, they'll bring you home. Which I'm hoping is sooner than later.”

“Why can't we all go?” She knew she was probably pushing his temper asking this many questions, but at this point, she was starting to panic.

“I think the demons are a little more interested in you than they are with your mom and me.”

“Does mom know you're doing this?” She replied with a sob.

“No. I'll explain it to her when I get home.” Stephen's grip on the steering wheel was white. Doing this was so much harder than it had been talking about it. He couldn't fathom what Sarah's reaction would be when he told her. 

“Dad, you'll get in trouble... I'll get in trouble...” She swallowed. “What if mom...”

“We're going to tell people you ran away.” He broke in. “I don't think we'd have a hard time convincing people of that.”

“The cops will issue one of those Amber Alert things...” Heather's mind was moving quickly. Did her dad really think he could pull this off? 

“Do not worry about the repercussions of this. If we're lucky and keep our prayers said, this will be over by Christmas and you can be home for the holidays.” He let out a weak laugh. “You know as well as I do that those alerts don't always work right away. It took them a year to find that Smart girl.”  
“I'm scared.” Heather hugged herself, resting her chin on her knees. “Do you trust the Winchesters?”  
“I do, sweet pea. You will be fine – and don't worry about your mom and me.” He steered the car off the highway and into a roadside park where Sam and Dean were already waiting. “We're here.” 

Heather nodded and pulled herself into the seat and then opened door, wincing as she stretched her legs. She could not believe this was happening. This was all some really crazy dream. Very vivid, very real, very strange dream, and any minute she was going to wake up back in her bed and see that it was three in the morning. But the cold wind against her cheek won the argument that this was real. She followed her dad to the trunk of the car as he opened it and shouldered her backpack and then lifted her duffel from inside. 

Stephen took it from her and they walked across the small parking lot away from his late model sedan towards the black Impala. He'd gone into the jungles of Vietnam thinking he wouldn't come back – all of those walks were nothing compared to this. The urge to take his little girl's hand was so strong but he knew that if he did that, he'd turn right around and this would all be for nothing. He noticed that she was doing a pretty good job of holding back tears. “You're early.” Was the only thing he could say when they reached the brothers.

“Didn't want to be late.” Sam said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He was tired from driving all night while Dean had slept. He'd not been afforded the look that his brother had gotten of the girl. He managed a worn smile. “How are you this morning, Heather?”

“Considering the circumstances...” She thought for a moment. “Okay, I guess. I woke up this morning. That's more than a lot of people got to do.”

Dean took the bag from Stephen and put it in the trunk of the Impala. “It's time we were gone, Sammy.”

“Right.” He said in reply. 

Stephen gave Heather a bear hug. “I love you, Heather Grace.”

She returned the hug. “I love you too, dad. Give mom a hug for me.”

“I will.” He pulled away and ruffled her hair before walking back to his car. 

Dean slammed the trunk closed. “Let's go.” 

“Okay.” She managed to squeak out a reply. All she really wanted to was break down and cry. She pulled the heavy back door open and set her bag on the floor behind the passenger seat as she slid in. The car had the distinct smell of leather and something she couldn't place. She saw out of the corner of her eye that her dad's car was already gone. 

Dean shut the door behind her before getting into the car. As they pulled out of the park and headed north, he glanced in the rear-view mirror at their backseat passenger. Next to him, Sam yawned and a few minutes later, he was snoring softly. He inwardly cursed, he'd been hoping his brother would stay awake long enough for them to at least get a word or two out of the girl. Well, he sure as hell wasn't going to spend the drive until Sam woke up in total silence. “Ever been to South Dakota?”

“What?” Heather turned from the window.

“You ever been to South Dakota?”

“Yeah... when I was nine and I went on vacation to the Black Hills. Is that where we're going?”

“Not the Black Hills part, but the eastern part of South Dakota.”

“Oh.” She bit her bottom lip. Clearly, Mr. Winchester was having as much trouble trying to talk as she was. “Is that where you and your brother live?”

“A friend of ours lives there.” 

“Where do you live, Mr. Winchester?” 

“Dean.” He replied.

“What?” 

“You can call me Dean. I don't think I've been called Mr. Winchester since I was in high school.” He sighed. “As for where Sam and I live, you're sitting in our home.”

“You live in this car?” Heather asked incredulously. 

“Yeah.” He saw the shocked look on her face that slowly turned to something akin to pity.

“I'm sorry.” She really was. She couldn't imagine having to live in a car, ever.

“We're used to it. Our friend Bobby, that's where we're going – he lives in a house though. I guess that's about the second closest thing my brother and I have to a home.”

“So it's sort of like someplace for you to have a mailing address or something?”

“Or something.”

**

Chuck threw his pencil down in annoyance. He'd not written anything like this in a while – probably not since back in the days when he was still getting published and he wrote _Heart_. Now here he was, writing about the Winchesters with a kid in the backseat of the Impala. Not just any kid, Dean's kid. He wondered offhandedly if this was some kind of cosmic payback for _The Kids Are Alright_. Clearly, there was a lot more going on in the world than he was privy too – but since he knew that the mother in question was a Greek Muse... 

He was about to pick up his pencil again when the doorbell rang. “Please don't let it be Becky, please don't let it be Becky...” He muttered to himself as he made his way to the door. The last thing he needed this morning was that half-crazed fan of his barging in here. He'd had to stuff all of his writing into a safe and keep the thing locked when she came over. 

Which was starting to happen more and more often and becoming borderline scary. The trouble was he was to attached to the house to move, not to mention he couldn't afford it. He peered out the glass and saw a man, older than him, standing there. He opened the door slowly and blinked at the man who was wearing dark sunglasses. “Can I help you?”

“I believe you have some questions that need answering.”

“If you're one of those Jehovah Witnesses, I'm not interested...” He started to close the door when the man reached out and grabbed it, holding it open. “Who the hell are you?”

“I think you already know.” With his free hand, he lowered his sunglasses and grinned. “What was it you called me? Oh yes.. _The Trickster_.” 

Realization dawned on Chuck's face and he stepped aside to let Gabriel in. In his mind, he was glad that he'd actually rang the bell, and not just burst into his house the way so many other angels had.

**

Sam woke up about four hours into the trip, when they stopped for gas. He noted that there was an uncomfortable silence in the car and he couldn't say he was surprised. “Where are we?” He asked tiredly. 

“Mount Sterling.” Heather replied as they pulled into the gas station. 

He looked at his watch. “This can't be right...” 

“You remember to set your watch back an hour for the time zone?” Dean answered.

“Not enough sleep...” He said grouchily and rubbed his face. “Say Heather, you mind switching seats with me?”

She nodded. “Uh, okay.”

“Probably sleep better in the backseat....” He muttered to himself as he got out of the car. 

Heather didn't say anything as they switched, she put her backpack in the front seat and then went into the convenience store to use the facilities. The past four hours had been extremely long – she was still in shock and she wagered Dean couldn't think of anything to talk about with her. Around one hour into the four, he'd told her to get the atlas and start checking for highways for him. That had at least been something to do. Why they couldn't just get onto an Interstate and not take the confusing state highways made no sense to her. Then again, nothing about today had made any sense. 

Sam had settled into the back seat, glad to be able to stretch out a bit. He'd spent almost all last night driving back to Indiana from Nashville – he and Dean had stayed in town down there long enough to have the first decent meal they'd had since Thanksgiving. He heard the door open and then heard it slam shut. “Door's pretty heavy, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” Heather replied. “How old is this car anyway?”

“It was made in sixty-seven.” 

“It still works?”

Sam was glad Dean wasn't in the car to hear that or his chuckle. “It's been well taken care of.”

“I shouldn't say anything... there's an eight-track player in the basement at my house. I took it to school one time and only two kids in my class knew what it was.”

He laughed in reply. “Sometimes I'm surprised this car doesn't play eight tracks...” He yawned again and closed his eyes.

“I'll let you sleep.” 

Dean got into the driver's side. “You didn't need anything, did you?”

“No, thank you.” 

“Right.” He started up the car and they pulled away. “We have to figure out something to talk about, this silence thing is killing me.”

“Okay.” She answered. “But I'm not playing any stupid road trip games.”

“Anyone who plays road trip games in this car has to get out and walk.”

“Does that include playing a game by yourself?”

“I don't think anyone ever has.” Sam said sleepily from the backseat.

“You seen any good movies lately?” Dean knew it was a lame question as soon as he asked it, but it was about the best he could think of at the spur of the moment.

“I've not really gone to any movies lately.... I think the last one I went and saw was _Half Blood Prince_.”

“What, you haven't seen _New Moon_?” He said with a laugh.

“I wouldn't go see that movie unless I was paid too. I hate that series.” She said in disgust. “My English teacher told us in the second quarter that we weren't allowed to do any book reports on any book in the series.” She shook her head. “Half the girls in my class freaked and said that was unfair.”

“What'd you say?”

“I said it was a good idea and that they should stop reading crap.”

“Sam, remind me that Heather here gets the extra cookie next time we have a package of them.”

“Okay.” He muttered before he started snoring again.

**

When Stephen pulled into the garage that evening, he was actually surprised he'd maintained a calm demeanor all day. He took a deep breath as he got out of the car, walked past Sarah's and shut the garage door. This was the one part of the day that was going to be the hardest – telling his wife where their little girl went. Steeling himself up to act as if everything was perfectly normal, he opened the door and went inside. “I'm home.” No sooner had he shut the door then he found himself slammed against it. 

“Where is she?” A voice snarled at him. It _sounded_ like Sarah, but as he stared at the woman holding him against the door, he knew it couldn't be her. There was no way in hell that a five foot two woman who weighed one-fifty could hold his six foot three one hundred and ninety pound body pinned to a wall. 

“What?” He managed to gasp out and then he saw her eyes – Sarah's eyes were solid black. “Who...” He struggled to break free. “Where's Sarah?”

“Oh she's here.” The demon tapped her free hand against her head. “She's in here, watching Stephen. When we came home and found this house empty, she sure was happy about it. Too happy for my taste...now where is Heather?”

“I don't...”

“Liar.” She backed away and flexed her hand, keeping him pinned to the wall with her powers. “You sent her away. You foolish, foolish man...” 

“Get out.” 

“No.” She smiled, her eyes still solid black. “I know what you did. You sent her off with the Winchesters.” 

Stephen knew that the shock on his face gave him away. “Leave her alone.”

“Oh, afraid it's to late for that. My father wants to see her – and he'll find her. She can't hide from him.”

“Don't be so sure of that.” He wheezed as he felt something in his chest tighten. 

“You're an old man, Stephen Kittredge. You also wouldn't hurt me because you'd be afraid of hurting your wife.” She backed away from him a little further smiling. “I'm going to kill you... and she's going to watch me do it. It's a pity she's not so young...” She giggled, the noise sounding odd coming from a fifty year old woman. “I do look forward to her explaining how she didn't do it. Who's going to believe her if she said she was possessed?” She pulled her powers back and let him fall to the ground. “Now...” She was cut off as Stephen charged, shoving her into the china cabinet. 

Stephen raced into the family room heading for the stairs as he heard the sound of shattering plates and glass rain down behind him. He didn't know how save his wife, hell, he didn't know how he was going to save himself. He couldn't bring himself to leave Sarah alone. He'd almost reached the stairs when the demon tackled him from behind. 

“Big mistake.” She snarled and rolled him over. 

Reaching blindly upward, Stephen grabbed the holy water font at the foot of the stairs and ripped it from the wall, arching it towards the woman. _Sarah, I'm so sorry, Sarah.._. The plaster shattered against her head and she bellowed in pain. Not so much from the impact, but from the contents of the font. It'd not been much, but it was enough that she'd backed up and was trying to rub the substance away from her. Realization hit him and he took advantage of her distraction to race up the stairs and into the master bedroom. He grabbed the plastic bottle off of his dresser just as the demon charged into the room, blood streaming down the side of her face. 

“Bastard.” She gasped from the doorway.

“Go to Hell.” He unscrewed the cap as she charged at him and just before she made impact, he upended the bottle of holy water on her. 

The demon screamed in agony as the water gushed down her face, burning her. The more it poured into her, the more it stung. It became unbearable as some of it fell into her mouth and then she roared in defeat.

Stephen watched as black smoke poured out of Sarah's mouth and eyes, howling towards the ceiling before shooting underneath the small gap under the window and outside. He dropped the bottle on the floor just as his wife slumped the ground. “Sarah...” He went and rolled her over. “I'm sorry...”

“I'm okay.” She let out a blubbery cough. “It was awful... she... she...”

“Ssh..” He kissed her forehead and cradled him to her. “You're safe now.”

“I guess there are such things as smoke monsters...” She closed her eyes. “I'm so tired...”

He slid his hand down her back, checking for injuries from where she'd hit the cabinet. Thankfully, nothing seemed to be broken. “I'm sorry.” He said again.

“I was glad to find Heather gone, Stephen.” She said weakly. 

“Honey, are you okay?” 

“I think it's my insulin.” She winced. 

“I'm going to go get you some juice.” He set her against the bedstead, kissing her cheek. “Just hang on.” He turned and ran for the kitchen. When he came back, he helped her drink. “Don't you worry. I'll take care of things.”

Sarah took another sip of the drink, feeling her body slowly start to calm down. “Heather's safe, isn't she?”

“Very safe.” He held the glass for her and kissed her forehead. “You can rest if you like. I'll clean things up and then I guess I better call the cops and tell them our little girl has run away.”

She managed a weak laugh. “How did she get out of Jasper?”

“No idea. You want something to eat?”

“No... not yet.” She took the glass from him and took a drink on her own. “I just want to sit here for a bit.”

“Sure.” He stood up and retrieved a towel from the bathroom and pressed it against the side of her head. He glanced at the empty bottle. “Guess it's a good thing I filled that up when we were at church yesterday.”

“I'm just glad you found something to get that... _thing_ out of me.” She took another sip of juice.  
He finished cleaning the side of her face. Thankfully, there was just a tiny cut on her forehead. “You need something more to drink?”

“No.” She smiled. “I'm going to sit here a while, though.”

“Okay.” He pulled the cloth away and stood. “I'll go clean things up and then we'll do what we need to.”

She nodded in reply, still holding onto her glass. 

Stephen tossed the bloodstained towel into the laundry hamper and went downstairs. The damage to the cabinet was negligible – the dishes had taken the worst of it. “Guess this answers the question of what Sarah's getting for Christmas.” He got the trash can and started tossing the broken plates into it. Those that were just chipped slightly he set on the dinning room table. After he was finished, he took the back to the large trash can in the garage. When he went downstairs to retrieve the vacuum, however, he stopped short. Someone was sitting in the large easy chair, flipping through one of the photograph albums.

“Hello, Stephen.” The voice was eerily placid. 

“Who?” He found himself staring at a man who looked to be in his mid thirties – but he looked – wrong, somehow. Faint blisters were apparent on his forehead, as if the body was trying to hold something in and almost failing. 

“I'm going to have to give this girl's mother credit, she did a lovely job of hiding her.” He looked up then and he smiled as he saw the older man falter a bit. “But of course, you already know about Heather.”

“Who are you?” He backed towards the stairs, hoping to run upstairs, grab Sarah and get out of the house.

“You thought you could outsmart me.” He shook his head. “Now, this is just going to be so much more complicated...” 

“What's going to be complicated?” He was nearly at the stairs when the other man stood, setting the album down. 

“I didn't want to have to come down here to do this myself... but as they say, sometimes if you want something done, you're going to have to do it yourself.” He gave a gesture with his hand and Stephen was hurled upward, onto the ceiling. “Did you know that this is how Mary Winchester died?” He looked up at him, smiling. “I was kind enough to knock your wife unconscious while you were busy with that mess in the other room. So her death should be relatively painless.”

Stephen winced in pain as he was pinned to the ceiling and then he realized exactly _who_ this person was. “Go to Hell.” It was a weak attack, he knew – but a small part of him felt satisfied.

“I don't think so.” Lucifer replied and walked up the stairs. He looked around once and then back at the struggling man in the basement. “I'll find your little girl... one way or another.” He spat on the floor. In that instant, Stephen Kittredge burst into flames. The fallen angel didn't stay to watch. He vanished from the house as the fire spread across the ceiling and up the stairs, racing towards the master bedroom where Sarah lay motionless. 

*

It was just after ten when the Impala pulled into the Singer Salvage Yard. All three of the occupants were tired, even Sam, who'd slept half the way there. It was still cold, but thankfully some of the snow from Thanksgiving had melted away. Heather was probably the most tired of the three – to much had happened today and all she wanted to do was sleep. She shivered slightly in her coat as they got out of the car and they all got their duffel bags from the trunk. 

Bobby, who'd been watching from the window, wheeled himself over to the door and opened it. “Get in here before you all freeze, ya idjits.”

“Hey Bobby.” Sam said as they came into the house. 

“Heard from Jo and Ellen.” Was the old hunter's reply. “I've spared Dean the long story and told them everything.” He looked pointedly at Heather, who had come in last and was shutting the door. “So they're heading back here as soon as they finish up in New Orleans.”

*  
Heather looked around the small room she'd been told to go up to and 'get settled' or something like that. This was the first room, other than the kitchen, she'd seen in this house that wasn't packed full of books. Not that she minded the thing about books. Perhaps Mr. Singer would let her read some of them while she was here. The room had no closet, just a dresser that was in desperate need of dusting. “Looks like I'm cleaning tomorrow.” She set her bag on the floor and her backpack on the surface of the dresser. The lone window looked out over the front of the house, although she couldn't see much in the dark, other than the Impala just partially bathed in the glow from the front porch light.

“It could be worse.” She told herself quietly as she opened her backpack and took out the photograph and stuck it in the corner of the dresser mirror. “I don't think they'd object if I went to bed.” 

*

Dean woke with a small start shortly after midnight. He looked up from the couch he was sleeping on and looked blearily into the kitchen. Castiel was standing there, leaning against the sink. Rubbing his face, he got up and staggered into the other room, yawning. The sooner he talked to the angel, the sooner he could go back to sleep. He'd already told the angel about personal space – he wondered if he could get the concept of 'ungodly hours of the night' into his mind as well.

“She's here, isn't she?” Castiel looked away from him, his gaze focused on the empty stairs.

“Heather you mean? Yeah, she's asleep upstairs.” He frowned, wondering how the angel couldn't sense her presence. 

The angel looked down for a moment and then looked Dean straight in the eye. “Sarah and Stephen Kittredge are dead.”

“What?” He suddenly felt very cold. He'd not told Heather about their relationship – now, on top of that he was going to have to tell her that her parents were gone? “How?”

“Lucifer.” He turned away from him again. “Polyhymnia is taking care of the details of concerning the whereabouts of Heather.” He tilted his head. “She said as one of the inventors of bullshit, she said it would be no problem.”

“Is that what she said?”

“That is exactly what she said.”

Had the situation not been so tragic, Dean might have laughed at that. He ran a hand down his face. “Damn it...” He rubbed his eyes. “I'm not waking her up to tell her all this. She should have at least one last night of uninterrupted sleep.” 

*

Castiel left shortly after that, but before returning to the couch, Dean went upstairs and peered into the room Heather was sleeping in. On the bedside table, her I-Pod glowed faintly as the strains of Jefferson Airplane's 'Long John Silver' came from the headphones. He went over and glanced at the device and cracked a small smile when he saw the title of the playlist: _Songs I'm Not Supposed to Like._  
He turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door quietly. Yesterday had been rough – today, however, was going to be pure emotional hell. For him and for Heather. 

In spite of himself, he had to wonder what else was on that playlist.


	5. How To Become Lost

When Heather woke up, she knew it was fairly early in the morning. She blindly reached out and turned off her I-Pod, making a mental note to charge it and then sat up. Rubbing her face, she noticed that the room looked no more cheerful in the morning sunlight than it had in the false light last night. It was just going to be for a year, she told herself. Barely that – Dean had told her the latest he'd get her home was September. She didn't think that Mr. Singer would let her do anything to the room other than clean it. Well, maybe she could at least put something up on the walls to make it look less drab and more... homelike, or something. 

She got up, made the bed and got dressed. After pulling her hair back, she made a face at herself in the mirror. While most girls she went to school with still held onto their little girl thinness, she had never been able to completely rid herself of her baby fat and then had started the poundage of adolescence. She wasn't fat and she wasn't skinny – Heather was probably the most average girl in her class, her red hair the only thing unusual about her. That's when the thought occurred to her. “What am I going to do about school?” She bit her lip as she pulled on her socks and shoes. Would she be enrolled in some school here in Sioux Falls or would she do some kind of independent study? Oh, that'd be a fun... “I hope Beth's doing all right...” 

She went to the door and opened it. Downstairs, she could hear one person snoring and one person in the kitchen. As she went down, she saw that both Sam and Dean were sleeping on the two couches. That didn't make much sense to her – as there were at least two more bedrooms upstairs. Then again, given the condition of the room she was sleeping in – it was a good bet that those two rooms were full of books and... who knows what else. Mr. Singer was in the kitchen, making coffee and muttering to himself. “Morning.”

“Morning kid.” He replied, not turning around. “You don't drink coffee, do you?”

“Uh... I'm kind of young to be drinking it.” 

“You're old enough to start. This is coffee, kid, not booze.” He looked over his shoulder. “Just put milk in with it. I don't have any juice or tea.”

Retrieving the milk from the fridge, Heather filled a coffee cup about a third full with the milk and then, frowning added the coffee. “Do you want some too?” She indicated the carton.

“No.” He set his mug down on the table and watched her as she put the milk away and then sat down across from him. “You sleep okay?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Singer.”

“You can call me Bobby, kid. If you want to throw an 'uncle' in front of it if it makes you feel more comfortable, that's fine.” He took a sip of coffee.

“Okay.” She took a drink from her cup and did he best to try and swallow. She'd never had coffee before in her life and the taste was weird. It was bitter and she nearly gagged – it was a good thing there'd been milk in it, or she might have thrown it up. The second sip was slightly better. “Can I ask a question? Is this coffee graded as being strong or weak?”

“It's strong.” He replied. “What do you think of it?”

She took another sip, smaller than the other two. “I think I' have to get used to the taste.”

Bobby chuckled. “How's your wrist?” He nodded at the bandage.

“Better, I guess.” She frowned. “I think I'm supposed to change the wrapping every... I can't remember...” She rubbed her head. “I only heard about half of the conversation between my dad and the doctor.”

“Probably every third day.” He frowned. “Which should be today, correct?”

“I think so.” She took another sip of coffee as she heard a grunt from the other room and a moment later, Dean came into the kitchen. “Morning.”

He responded with another grunt as he got a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. Truth was, Dean hadn't been able to sleep since Castiel had came and told him about the Kittredges. He had no idea how he was supposed to tell the girl so much in one short day and knew that the longer he delayed doing it, the harder it would be. He took a swig of coffee. 

“Looks like someone didn't sleep.” Bobby said.

“I slept.” Came the curt response. “Just not that much.” He glanced at Heather. “Bobby got you drinking coffee already?”

“Uh... it's got milk in it.” 

“Probably a good thing. Don't want to have you bouncing off the walls.”

Heather pushed her cup away and folded her arms. “You know, I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop casting stereotypical behavior on me.” 

“I'm just saying...”

“Please, I've gotten the drug lecture from three different health teachers. I don't need to be told about the evils of things like caffeine. I'll also have you know I once drank three cans of Mountain Dew on a dare once, and I didn't bounce off the walls. I just couldn't sleep for two days.”

While Dean felt like he was having flashbacks to the days when he and Sam were little, Bobby started laughing. “What's so funny?”

“Isn't she adorable?” He kept chuckling. “Reminds me of another kid I once knew...” 

Dean had a feeling he knew Bobby was talking about him and turned to Heather. “How old were you when you drank three cans of Dew?”

“I was eleven. The non-sleeping thing actually worked out in my favor. I was the only one who didn't suffer from jet lag.”

“You were on a trip?”

“Uh huh. We got to London and I was the only person who wasn't tired. So I got to sit and watch really awesome shows on television until someone else in the group woke up.”

“What were you doing in London?” Bobby asked.

“The high school my dad used to work at takes a trip to Europe every other year – two years ago, he was asked to be a chaperon, and since it was a group rate, mom and I went too – they judged I was finally old enough to appreciate it.” She took a sip of her coffee as they heard Sam get up and come into the room. “That and the fact I refused to stay with my crazy Aunt Shelly if they went without me.”  
She made a face. “But I'm really not supposed to call her crazy...”

“Is she crazy?” Dean asked as they heard a grunt from Sam as he got some coffee.

“I don't know...” Heather poked at her cup. “My dad says she's not been right since my cousin Ava disappeared a few years ago.”

Sam sat down at the table. “Not right in what way?”

“She keeps saying that the bad things that happen aren't her fault.” She shook her head. “I mean, I don't know if it is or not, but some weird stuff started happening...”

The three men exchanged glances as her gaze was directed towards her coffee. “What kind of weird things?” Bobby asked.

“Well, it wasn't real obvious at first... I mean, grandma and grandpa Kittredge both died on the same day of heart failure... but neither of them had heart problems. Then Ava's older brother Joshua was picked up for drug trafficking and then her younger brother was injured in a car wreck and he's never going to walk again.” She took another sip of coffee. “But then things started happening to in-laws of in-laws... then it worked it's way back in. I've got four cousins who all have cancer of some kind... and it's the first time cancer has even shown up in the family. Well, technically they're not cousins, since they're on Uncle Tim's side.”

“Did anything happen to your parents?” Dean asked.

“Actually, compared to everyone else, we were actually doing pretty well... until we moved to Jasper, that is.”

“Why did you move to Jasper anyway?” Sam put in.

“Change of pace, I think. Dad said he was worried about mom's health.”

“What's wrong with her?” Dean asked, knowing full well what really had happened to her.

“She's a severe diabetic. That's why I'm an only child and adopted. She could never have kids of her own.” She sat back in her chair. “I don't like talking about the bad things. Because I prescribe to the Carol Anne Freeling philosophy. When you talk about things, they happen.”

The brothers looked at each other and then back at her and spoke at the same time. “Good advice.”

**

The Kittredge house was a magnificent ruin. The house was completely gutted, complete with two smoldering piles that had been the cars in the garage. Melpomene leaned against the stone wall across the street with a small group of people were watching the firemen sort through the rubble, trying to find the source of the blaze. She seriously doubted they'd ever discover it. Adjusting her sunglasses, she left the group and strode confidently across the street and walked over to the fire chief. Let the bullshit begin. “Morning sir.”

The man looked her over, frowning. “You'll need to go back across the street, miss.”

She pulled out a badge. “Agent Killian, FBI. I believe I can be of some assistance.”

“I beg your pardon?” He nearly laughed in her face. “How so?”

“The Kittredges were here in Jasper under our protection.” She tucked the badge back into her coat. “I'm afraid I can't discuss the case with you.” She put her hands into her pockets. “But the people who did this aren't going to be found easily. Stephen Kittredge contacted me Sunday about a possible breach in security, stemming from the incident involving Heather Kittredge last Friday.”

“Do you believe the two are related?”

“Quite possibly. I just want to inform you that Heather Kittredge has been moved to a secure location and is safe at the present time.” She looked back at the ruined house. “It was a good thing we got her out of here yesterday morning... or there'd be three bodies to bury instead of two.”

“Is there family that needs to be contacted in regards to her?”

“No.” Melpomene shook her head. “If anyone inquires after her, merely tell them that it's been taken care of and if they have any questions...” She pulled a card from her pocket. “Have them call me directly.”

He took the card and pocketed it. “Thank you, Agent Killian.”

“You're welcome.” She turned and walked back down the sidewalk, not wanting to look back, her mind seething. She scanned the crowd, searching for anyone who didn't belong – and found the group free of demons. That didn't mean there wasn't one still here, watching. Apparently there had been another one that night at the Babcock's... and the demon had come back. She almost lamented killing Surgat – almost. He probably wouldn't have given up the name of his accomplice. But at least they'd have a lead.

She kept her head up as she walked down the street, frowning. This wasn't something that had happened in the past. She knew of the curse that had befallen all of Azazel's chosen who had not survived – the only reason Stephen and Sarah remained immune so long was because Heather, as niece of Azazel's champion, (though Sam Winchester had become that inadvertently when he killed the one who'd opened that Devil's Gate) had been their child and in their house. In saving his little girl, Stephen Kittredge had unknowingly signed his and his wife's death certificates. This was a bloody mess and everyone was caught up in it. 

Penny paused for a moment and thought. The rules stated that you couldn't contact your children... they could only seek you out. A slight tinge came to her cheeks when she realized something else – there was no rule forbidding her from contacting Dean Winchester. True, he probably would let into her something fierce and she'd deserve it. It was pretty clear whose side she and her sister's were on – and it was time to start evening the odds. She pulled out her cell and hit speed-dial. A moment later, Polly answered.

“Penny? What is it?”

“Hey – you with Castiel at the moment?”

“No, why?”

“Well, tell him the next time you see him that I have a message for him to give Dean Winchester.”

“Message being?”

“Tell Castiel to tell Dean that I know who's got the Colt... and I'm willing to help him get it back.”

“Isn't that... against the rules?”

“What rules? It's the girl I'm not allowed to see – I didn't see a 'only see them once' clause in those rules.”

“Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

“Absolutely.”

**

Dean told Sam and Bobby about the Kittredges when Heather disappeared upstairs with a bucket full of cleaning supplies. Cas had told them that it hadn't been a demon who'd done it, but Lucifer had gone to Jasper personally to dispose of them. If there had been another demon who'd been at the Babcock and the Kittredge home, assuming they were one in the same, it was a good bet that demon had been killed for failing. This of course, was among the least of their problems. The supposed ten month at the longest visit to South Dakota had just become a hell of a lot longer.

Sam rubbed his eyes. “Is it me, or would this be a lot easier if she wasn't a girl?”

“I don't know.” Dean folded his arms. “Any ideas Bobby?”

The old hunter grunted. “Well, it looks like this family just officially grew by one member. Did you tell her anything about what you and Sam do on the drive over here yesterday?”

“I didn't go into a lot of details. I don't think she wanted to know all that much.”

“It's not going to be a good day for her.” He looked up the stairs. “The more you delay this, the worse it's going to be.” They heard the door open upstairs and then footsteps go down the hallway to the bathroom. “You want to go up there or you want her to come down here?”

“I'll go up.” Dean took a deep breath and mounted the stairs. He'd walked into a lot of scary places, but somehow, this seemed to be the worst. He reached the top just as Heather returned from the bathroom. “Hey.”

“Hi. Is something wrong?” She went into the small room and set the bucket down on the floor. 

“Um...” He rubbed his chin and came up to the door frame, swallowing. “Uh...”

Heather stood up straight, frowning. “This is has to be bad.” 

“What makes you say that?”

“If this is about how you and I are related, I think I have that pretty much figured out. Since I'm guessing there's no way the two of us could look this much alike if we had the same dad and different moms, I'm just going to dismiss whatever happened nine months before I was born as teenage hormones.”

“Do you always sound this old?” Dean nearly laughed.

“I have been raised by a man who, until last September, has been the principal of a high school since nineteen-seventy eight. I've probably heard every single lecture that can be given in the lines of school discipline...without being in trouble.”

“The details of that are actually complicated...” He grimaced and came into the room, shutting the door part of the way. “About me and uh...your birth mom.”

“What's complicated about it? Sometime in the January or December before I was born, you and whoever my biological mother was hooked up and nine months later she leaves me in a fire station in a box full of blankets.” She leaned against the wall, folding her arms. “And I'm not actually angry at her or you for abandoning me. I'm actually very, very grateful that you didn't have me killed before I was born.”

Dean flinched as if he'd been slapped across the face. “Okay, I'm going to have to sit down for this.” He went and sat down on the bed, wincing as he heard the bedsprings groan under his weight. “Do you want the weird news or...” He motioned with his hand. “I think you better sit down too.” 

“I think I'd rather stand.” She took a step away from him. “Did something happen in Jasper?”

Unable to respond, he put his head in his hand and nodded. 

“No.” Heather felt the color leave her face. “You're lying.” Her voice cracked.

He swallowed hard and looked up at her. “I really wish I could lie about this, but I can't.” He watched as her face crumpled and then he stood up and caught her before she fell on the floor. He pulled her down to sit on the floor just as she started sobbing. Dean leaned back against the wall, keeping both arms around her as she wept. He knew this pain – he knew it all to well. When he had been four years old, he'd not fully understood the fact that his mom wasn't coming back. He'd been twenty-seven when his father had died – and less than a year later, he had almost lost Sam. But for all the grief he had felt in his life, this somehow seemed worse. In the span of twenty-four hours, she'd lost both her parents and the only home she had. That seemed to much for one person to have to bear alone – particularly someone who was as young as Heather. _I gave Stephen Kittredge my word that I'd look after Heather. I'll be damned if I ever break that promise._

**

It had taken three months, two weeks and four days for it to happen, but it happened. Zachariah found Castiel. Something was off as soon as the battle started. Cas knew that. With his rapidly depleting grace and his former superior still in touch with Heaven, the focus didn't seem to kill him – but to rather trap him. He knew better than to stay in an open area for long, anywhere where a ring of holy oil could have been placed. 

“You are a fool and a traitor.” Zach spat at him, sending a blast of energy at him. The wall on the far side of the room exploded into fire. “You chose the humans over your own family...” He snarled. “If you'd just give up Dean Winchester, this would all be over.”

“Never.” Castiel spat, throwing a blast of his own back at him. 

“How can you be so attached to these smelly things?” His voice full of disgust.

“That's blasphemy.” He replied with a snarl.

“You're in no place to make judgments, Castiel.” He suddenly backed away and reached into the pocket of his vessel's coat. “We will find Dean Winchester without your help... you, on the other hand, we're just going to have to get rid of you the hard way.” He pulled out a glass vial, roughly the size of an aspirin bottle and threw it at him. 

It was so unexpected that he didn't have time to react. The vial hit Castiel square on the cheek and shattered. A greenish-gray liquid splashed across his face, stinging his eyes as he bent over, trying to wipe it off.

“Don't bother, it's to late for that...” Zachariah said disdainfully. “And soon, you won't to worry about saving what little grace you have left because you won't have _any_ grace left.” 

Cas felt something hot and sharp pierce the back of his neck. It wasn't a sword, it wasn't a knife. It was sharper, yet more delicate. It was a needle – and a moment later, he felt whatever it was that Zachariah had just injected him with start to take hold. The feeling that ripped through his body was completely foreign and both terrifying and – rather euphoric at the same time. He was aware that he was now alone and he hated that no-one was there. For some reason, he found himself thinking about that poor girl Chasity who worked in that brothel. He clawed for his cell phone, trying to maintain control over his thoughts – and his body. He stared blankly down at the menu – there were just four numbers in his speed dial. The first three did no good, he was in St. Petersburg – millions of miles from South Dakota. He hit the number four and prayed that the answer would be swift. 

“Hello?” A hushed voice answered on the second ring.

“Polyhymnia?”

“Castiel?” The Muse said and a moment later, she was standing next to him. “What in the name of the seven worst hells...” She looked around at the burning warehouse. “One thing I'll say for you angels... you certainly do a lot of damage in a fight.” She helped him sit up. “What'd you get hit with?”

“I... don't know.” He felt very strange – the burning feeling was starting to get stronger. 

She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and cleaned the blood from his face. That's when she saw a few drops of liquid clinging to the faint stubble on his chin. She used her fingers to brush it off and then sniffed at it. “Oh shit... please tell me you didn't swallow any of this.”

“I... may have. I think... I was injected with it as well...” He blinked, feeling dizzy. “What is?”

“We've got to go...” She helped him to his feet. “I've got to get you out of here...” A moment later, she flashed them from the building and to one of the few places no angel could enter unless escorted. Granted, not many angels came knocking on the door of Mount Olympus. She knew that this was borderline dangerous – but it was safer to have Castiel here than to let him go off on his own. She set him down on the large rug that dominated the room. “Stay right there... try not to move around to much.” Polly went into the other room and got a bottle of water and a washcloth. In the minute she was gone, she came back to find that the potent drug that he'd been hit with had already started it's vicious work. The only reason she could tell was because the angel had taken off his coat, shoes, socks, a dress jacket and a tie and was studying the buttons of his shirt with all the confusion of a three year old. “I think you've gone far enough there.” She sat down next to him and started to wash his face. 

“I'm hot.” Castiel balled his hands into fists and pressed them against the floor, willing himself to keep them still. “What is this?”

“If it's what I think it is, you've been stricken with one of the most dangerous aphrodisiac drug there is. You're actually lucky it's taking a while to work it's way into your system.” She shook her head. “I'm guessing that Zachariah was planning you'd go off the deep end abduct some innocent young woman and have a very long night, if you get my meaning.” She gently pulled a small fragment of glass from the cut on his cheek. “Then, as you're in some kind of depleted afterglow, one of your siblings will take advantage of your state and kill you.”

“That does sound like something Zachariah would do.” He tilted his head and blinked at her. “Why is it that all you Muses are so beautiful?”

“That's the drug talking.” She put the washcloth down. “You want some water?”

“No.” He knew he was smiling. He'd never had any feelings like this – he'd never had feelings before. This was an extremely pleasant one. “Why do they call you Polly?” He blanched at his slurred speech. “You don't look like a Polly...more like a... Mina.” He fell back on the floor and grinned up at her. “How long does this last?” His voice had all the dreamy quality of someone who was extremely drugged but she could still hear the angel trying to maintain his normal calm.

“That I can't tell you.” She kicked off her own shoes and then helped him sit up. “I also can't let you out of here... not until it wears off.”

“That's okay. I like being here.” He hacked once and hugged his stomach as he sat back up. “Why is this happening?” His voice had more of his normal tone in it. 

“I know you've watched humans. If it gets to bad, we'll just take a trip to Mount Everest to cool you off.” She tried not to react when he started to rock back and forth and suddenly his head made contact with her shoulder. “Castiel... you've got to try and stay calm. Can you do that?”

He winced. “Why would a human take this?”

“The only humans I've ever known to take it are the men who think it's their divine right as men to have more than one wife.” She said with disgust. “Or have a harem just because the law says they can.”

“How...odd.” His head lolled to the side, his face making contact with her neck. “You're afraid of me. Given what my brothers have done to you, it makes sense.” A wave of feeling came over him and for some reason, found himself trying to get closer to her. “I won't hurt you...”

Polly acted quickly before he could do something she knew he'd regret. She pulled him into a sit so that his back was against her stomach. She then wrapped one leg over his, so that one leg was pinned to the floor. Lastly, she wrapped her arms tight around him, keeping his own arms locked against his chest. Her head rested against between his shoulder blades. “Just breathe.”

“I believe humans call this a violation of personal space.” Castiel said in his flat tone. “Why...”

“It's a lot better for me to do this than for you to let that drug do what it wants you to do.” She took a deep breath. “I'd throw you under a net, but that'd drain your powers.”

The sensation swept over him again and he found himself staring at her toenails. “You have such little feet...”

“Cas, I'd say something to that but just knowing you're going to remember all this when you finally do come down from this high is enough...” 

The angel giggled. He _actually_ found himself giggling. “I...” He titled his head back, looking up into the room. He saw that it was octagonal in shape and shelves went almost halfway up the ceiling. They were all packed full of books and all sorts of odd looking objects he couldn't place. The feeling passed again. “I am sorry that you have to do this.” 

Polly let out a sigh. “It's all right. I've been in worse spots than this.” She smiled faintly. “At least you don't smell to bad.”

Castiel blinked balefully up at the shelves, hating this feeling that rolled upon him in waves. It was... he couldn't find the words to explain how it felt out loud. One moment all was calm in his mind and the next all the could think about was something about Polyhymnia. He assumed that the drug would make him focus on any woman and since she was the only one around... He swallowed nervously and looked at the stone fireplace in front of him. “Why is there a rock on the mantle?”

“That's from a statue of Buddha that used to be carved into a mountain in Afghanistan.” 

Castiel heard pain in her voice as she continued.

“It was one of the last treasures there... it took the monks nearly eighty years to create it – and in a matter of seconds, it was destroyed by the Taliban.” She moved her head so that it rested on his shoulder. “Mankind has such an unlimited capacity to both create and destroy. It's sad that most chose the later.” 

He blinked and scanned more of the shelves, some things coming into focus. One shelf held scrolls that he knew had come from the library at Alexandria. Five shelves held copies of various versions of the Bible. It seemed every religion, every faith, was held in this room – nothing seemed to be left out. Even stacked one shelf he could see the entire collection of the _Supernatural_ books. “How is it you can hold me still?” His voice was dreamy again. “I should be able to break free of you easily.”

“I know you normally could.” She sighed and felt him tense up as her breath went against his cheek. “Let's just say for right now, I've got the home field advantage.”

He titled his head to the side. “I like it here.” He unclenched his arms and started playing with a strand of her hair.

“Well, it's a good thing I don't have anywhere to be any time soon.” She managed a weak smile. “I was just listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir practice for their Christmas Concert.”

The angel laughed. “An ancient Greek goddess in a cathedral...that's funny.” He started to laugh harder. “I hate this feeling...”

“I bet you do.” She squeezed her arms harder around him. “But I can tell you there are worse feelings in the world.”

“This drug... it's not addictive, is it?”

“I think it falls into the same category as aspirin in regards to addictiveness.” She replied, letting out a long breath.

“You're warm.” He said, still laughing. “I'd like to be warm too...” He studied the lock of hair he was holding. 

“I'd like it if angels could pass out, but since that's not happening either, I guess we're just going to have to sit here for a while.”

He stiffened again. “Am I really going to remember all this?”

“I'll keep it a secret between us until the end of time and beyond.” She said in reply. 

“This drug... shouldn't be affecting me.” He kept twirling the strand of her hair around his fingers.

“I know it shouldn't. But unfortunately, it is... you're actually doing a pretty good job of not giving yourself over to it.”

He found himself nuzzling against her neck. “What if I did?”

“Then that would make the rest of our time together very... awkward.” She didn't want to tell him that she actually wouldn't mind what he was offering.

“Don't you like me?” He giggled again. He really hated that sound. “I like you.”

“Castiel, you have got to stay focused, because that is the drug talking right now. I know for a fact that angels look on me and my sisters like we're a step above dirt.”

“I don't think you're anything like dirt...” He got another segment of her hair and started to twist that around his fingers as well. “I really want this to stop.” 

“I know you do..” She rested her chin on his head, wishing he'd sit still. “I have a feeling that it's probably going to get worse.”

**

Bobby set Sam to work making breakfast. They'd heard Heather's sobs slowly abate, but Sam still couldn't bring himself to go upstairs. He read the directions on the pancake mix, frowning. “I keep feeling like I should do something else...”

“Just stay down here and cook.” Bobby said, folding his arms, trying to keep his face calm. “Poor kid.” 

He poured the batter into the large measuring cup and then added some milk. “I don't think she's going to want to eat.”

“You might be surprised.” He wheeled himself over to the fridge. “I did a little research on the Muses while you two were gone.” He pulled out a package of bacon and set it on the counter next to Sam. “They're an aloof bunch, according to the handful of hunters who've run into them.” 

“The one that showed up here last week seemed rather...” He searched for the right word. “she was quite the smart-ass, I suppose.”

“I'd say you were lucky you caught her in a good mood when you shot her. According to the lore, the Muses have turned men into donkeys for lesser offenses.” He went and retrieved a book from the other room while Sam mixed up the batter. “They've also turned women into magpies, among other things.” He said, wheeling himself back into the room, opening the book to the marked page. “Here it is...the nine Muses are the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, goddess of memory.” He let out a snort. “It's said the two of them had sex for nine consecutive nights and the girls were the result.” He frowned. “I don't think I'd want to ask any of them if that's true... what I don't get is how they maintain their powers these days.”

“According to Cas, they live off of creativity.”

“Wonder how they managed to latch onto that instead of worshipers...and I'm guessing they're not sharing.” He turned a few pages. “There's something else... even though there's nine of them, the only two who were constantly shown together were Melpomene and Polyhymnia. The two of them are almost always next to each other in paintings depicting all nine.” He shut the book. “Tragedy and religion... I guess that makes sense on some level.” He closed the book. “You said that the one that was here...which one was that?”

“Polly.” He heated up the griddle as he heard a door upstairs open. “What about it?”

“You said that Cas knew her?”

“Pretty well, from what I could tell... I almost think he was almost scared of her.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, he was running from her.” He frowned. “Then again, given who all is looking for him, I can't say I blame Cas for being cautious.”

“True.” Bobby shook his head. “I'm hoping Ellen and Jo get back here sooner rather than later...these crash courses into our world are never pretty.” 

Sam poured four pancakes onto the griddle. “She strikes me as the type who'd know the books more than the bullets.” He poked them absently with a spatula. “Of course, the whole idea of her having to fight or know about the things we fight makes me sick.”

A door opened upstairs again and a few moments later, Dean walked into the kitchen, his face looking ashen. He silently went over to the cupboard, took down a glass and then went to the sink. He drained half the water in one long chug, something he couldn't remember doing since late in the morning on a day in September a year ago. He set the glass down and then leaned against the counter. He glanced at the griddle. “Better turn those over.”

Sam rolled his eyes in response before doing so. “I didn't know you knew how to cook without a microwave.”

“You'd be surprised.” He drained the rest of the glass, keeping his gaze focused on the stairs. Heather had come down halfway and was sitting there, watching them. She had said that she didn't want to be with anyone or be alone – so he'd suggested she come part of the way down the stairs. She was leaning against the posts, watching them. “You sure you don't want anything to eat?” He called loud enough for her to him.

Heather nodded her head in response, but even as she did so, her stomach rumbled. This was like some horrible nightmare and any minute, she'd wake up back home in her bed in Jasper. Her thoughts were jumbled – and nothing made sense. She had the feeling that since she was supposed to be in hiding – if what had killed her parents was still looking for her – she couldn't even go to the funeral. She was sure her parents would understand. All she could remember was the time when she was seven and her mom had been in the hospital – and she and her dad had worried that she wouldn't recover. Her mom had told Heather to make sure that the song 'Going Home' from _Gods & Generals_ would be played at her funeral – all her dad said in that regard was he wanted a violin to play _Shenandoah_. 

At seven, she'd not wanted to think of her mom dying – but it had always been the worry that hung over the Kittredge household. Her dad had known about mom's request to – but he was gone too. There would be no home to go to now – she didn't know the details of how her parents had died. She wasn't ready for that answer. Heck, she didn't want to know. Odds were, her mother's siblings would sort through the entire house in short order and since she wasn't there, the things in her room would be riffled through as well. She hoped they at least gave all her books to the Jasper Public Library. The place had a pathetically lame young adult section.

Sam glanced into the other room before depositing the first four pancakes onto a plate and then pouring out four more. Everyone in this house knew what it was like to have your world crash down on your shoulders and leave you with next to nothing. But the three people in the kitchen had each other and Heather wasn't exactly comfortable with them. His mind went back to what she had told them about Ava's family. It made him wonder if the families of the other psychic children were suffering a similar fate. _And I've got a good idea as to why Stephen and Sarah didn't seem so unlucky – until yesterday._

**

Castiel was in agony. He was hot, he could barely keep his thoughts straight and no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to stay focused for more than thirty seconds. He had set his hands on the rug and was slowly clenching and releasing them, trying to maintain his breathing. “How long...”

“It's been an hour.” Polyhymnia kept her arms around his middle, keeping him from bolting from the room. “I know it seems longer.” She was starting to get tired from holding the angel in place. Short on grace as he was, it was still like trying hold back a hurricane. 

“Is there anyway... you know of....” He winced as he felt another wave of emotion tumble over him. 

“It's one of those nasty things that just has to run it's course, like a cold.”

“I've never had a cold.” He shuddered and turned his head to look over his shoulder at her. “Have you?”

“No.” She stiffed as she felt his hand make contact with her foot. “What are you doing?”

“Are you ticklish?” He turned around, breaking her hold, rubbing her ankle with two fingers. 

“Cas, you have got to stay calm.” She tried to move her foot away from him but his hand merely followed it. 

“I am calm.” He tilted his head to the side, blinking at her. “You didn't answer my question... do you like me?”

Polly took a deep breath. “I do like you Castiel, but this isn't you. It wouldn't be right.”

He moved so fast she nearly fell over when he pressed his forehead against hers. “You've lied to mortal men about what you are. You've slept with them – you have borne six children and never told six men anything...” His voice was raspy. “How is this different?”

“Because I only slept with those men once.” The argument sounded lame as soon as she said it. “I also never saw any of those men again. I don't think I can avoid that this time.” She put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him away slightly. “There's also has to be some kind of cosmic law that would forbid this.”

“You worry to much.” He tried to lean forward again but found her grip to strong to move much more than an inch. “Given what I've done in the past few months...I doubt that breaking another rule will make much difference.”

“There's the drug talking again.” She knew her resolve was starting to crumble. 

He took the hand that was on his shoulder in both of this, studying it intently. “If I was completely human, would you be pushing me away?”

“If you were human, I'd have thrown you in a pool to cool off.” She flinched as he started stroking her wrist. “Cas, do you have any idea what you're doing?”

“Honestly?” He looked up at her and blinked. “None...I have.... not had an opportunity like this before.”

“I thought angels were forbidden from having...relationships of the physically carnal kind.”

He gave her the most pathetically puppyish look she'd ever seen on an angel's face. “I believe that rule only applies to angels in relationship to demons.” He started studying the scar on her hand and wrist.

“Damn it.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “That's the other thing that annoys me about you angels... you are just so damn good at keeping everyone else in the dark. Must be why your brethren love the Middle Ages so much... with humanity wandering in a darkness they weren't even aware of.”

“I did not love the Middle Ages...” Castiel caught the own tone in his voice. “I did not like to see my father's creations looking so lost...” He turned her hand over again. “So you and your sisters decided to light a fire...” He ran his finger down the scar that started at the tip of her middle finger, following it down her hand, over her wrist and up her arm. “...and gave humanity light again.”

The tone surprised her more than anything. Castiel was still very drugged and very happy sounding – but there was sincerity in his words. “Sometimes a single spark is all it takes.” She shivered as he traced the scar back down again. “I really wish you'd stop doing that.”

“Don't you like it?” This time when a wave of emotion hit him, he didn't wince in pain. He found that if he didn't try to fight it, it was easier to bear.

“That's the problem, I do like it... more than I should.” She watched him study her hand for another minute. “Well, as they say, no sense in shutting the barn door once the horse is out...”   
“Meaning?”

“We're already in for it for agreeing to work together...” She shifted so that she was sitting on her knees. “Might as well ice the damn cake while we're at it.”

“I don't understand your... euphemisms...” He gave another giggle, his first one in twenty minutes.   
“You're talking in riddles.”

“Castiel, talk is cheap.” She put her free hand on his shoulder, jerked her other hand from his grip and put it on the back of his head, leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. She was expecting him to shove her away from him when she did, she wasn't expecting one of his arms to go around her waist, the other on the back of her head, pulling her closer to him. If the angel hadn't told her he'd never kissed anyone before in his very long life, she would never have believed him. For a brief moment, she thought of pulling away and forgetting the whole thing – something told her that was the more decent thing to do. That all ended when she felt his hand slide under the back of her shirt. _One thing is for damn sure – when that drug wears off, there will be the most awkward 'morning after' conversation in the history of... well, everything.  
_  
**

Heather's resolve not to eat anything lasted exactly ten minutes when she slunk into a kitchen chair and started munching on a piece of bacon. It was a decent distraction from taking in the horror that her life was rapidly spiraling into. Neither of the brothers or Bobby said anything about her arrival – she guessed either they didn't know what to say or were treading lightly around her. She could handle that. One thing was for sure – she wasn't ready to talk about any of this. She probably would never be. She guessed they figured she'd be in the kitchen eventually, because they'd laid a place for her. 

The dull roar that had been in her ears ever since Dean had told her what happened in Jasper was slowly starting to abate, but she could barely make out the conversation they were having. She heard something about a woman named Ellen and her daughter Jo and that they were in New Orleans. Sam mentioned a voodoo curse but Heather was pretty sure she imagined hearing that. Until Dean said that'd he'd been to New Orleans once or twice for a similar reason. What the heck was with these people? Okay, so her dad told her that Sam and Dean fought demons and other evil things. But what kind of person did you have to be to choose to do such a thing? _A completely selfless one, duh. I wonder if I'm going to have to start fighting too._

“You want something besides bacon, kid?” Bobby asked after seeing her eat a fourth slice.

“Uh...” She hated that all three of them were staring at her. “I guess.” She bit her lip as she looked at the stack of pancakes. There was bottle of syrup, some jam and butter on the table as well. “Do you have any peanut butter?”

“Sure kid, it's in the pantry.” 

“Thank you.” She went to get it and as she came back and slid into her chair, Sam started talking again.

“I guess the quiet is starting to end. Maybe those kids down in Little Rock were onto something.” 

“I don't know Sam, I don't want to drive all the way down to Arkansas just go find another hoax.” Dean said. “Hopefully Cas will come back with a lead on the Colt.”

“Who's Cas?” Heather asked as she put two pancakes side by side on her plate and opened the jar of peanut butter.

“He's an angel.” Dean said. “What are you...” He watched as she smeared peanut butter on one pancake and then put jam on the other. “Is that good?”

She turned the pancake with jam over on to the one with peanut butter. “It's how I've eaten pancakes this way since I was six.”

“Looks... interesting” He took a swig from his coffee mug. “Anyway...” He turned back to his brother. “We'll look for something else before we go tearing off to Little Rock.”

“Fine.” Sam was annoyed. He put another helping of bacon on his plate along with another two pancakes. “Heather, can I ask you something?”

She swallowed her food before answering. “I guess so...”

“You just found out there are angels... you already knew there were demons... and you're not shocked?”

Heather gave him a look that he'd seen on Dean's face so many times that he nearly dropped his fork. “Of course there are angels. I just didn't think that demons walked the earth until a few days ago... I thought they stayed in Hell or something.”

“Sam, she's actually taking all of this really well, let's not press our luck.” Dean said, flatly.

“She needs to know.” Sam said, dropping his fork, scowling. “She's safer knowing.”

“Knowing what?” 

“Knowing what's going on.” The younger Winchester said in reply.

“Are they always like this?” She asked Bobby. 

“More or less.” He shook his head. “Calm down, you idjit.” He said gruffly to Sam before turning to Dean. “and your brother is right – Heather needs to know what's going on. The other side probably knows a good deal about her by now and it won't be long before they find out all of it.”

“You mean there's more?” She set her hands on the table, looking from one man to the other. “Just what in...” She caught herself before she cursed. “Why don't you...” _I may as well learn everything and just get it over with_. She did her best to keep her voice controlled. “Just start at the beginning and I will do my best not to uh... freak out to much.”

“We don't know everything...” Dean said, folding his arms. “And a lot of it's ugly.”

“Considering how far south my life has gotten in the past few days, I'd rather just as soon know what's out there and what could show up than have it come out of nowhere and hit me in the face.”

Bobby smirked lightly. “Kid, you're either really brave or really stupid.” He took another sip of coffee before he began talking again. Sam and Dean both seemed at a loss for words.

**

Castiel wasn't certain of how much time had gone by. He supposed it may have been an hour or two in human terms. The drug seemed to be wearing off some, he was able to think clearly for longer stretches – by longer they lasted a few minutes rather than seconds. Strangely enough, he was not horrified at his actions in those moments of lucidness. Was that then, another result of how far he had fallen? He remember telling Polly about such things not being forbidden – which was true. But given the absolute disgust most of his brothers and sisters had for humans, the likelihood of such things happening were almost negligible. He had no idea what sort of rules applied to the Greek Pantheon. 

He didn't mind the weight on his chest as Polly rested against him, snoring very softly. The whole thing was new and confusing to him. He remembered Dean telling him that inequity was one of the perks of rebelling against Heaven. He tensed up as another wave of the drug swept over him. Just why had Zachariah done this? Had his former superior been counting on him to go after a human female? That seemed highly likely – it also seemed that if Polly hadn't been keeping him calm for the first hour, he would have turned violent. _That could have led to me harming an innocent woman – in the worst possible way._ That was the sort of crime that would destroy what was left of his grace. He shuddered at the mere thought of doing such a thing. It seemed a more likely plan than the one Polyhymnia had surmised earlier of him being murdered by one of his brothers or sisters after a night of fornication.

He kept his gaze on the four windows far above them, trying to put things to order in his mind. A lot of things seemed scattered. The room they were in now was not the first room where they had been – that room had been octagonal – this one had the same high ceiling, but was smaller. They'd not conversed much – but somehow, talk hadn't seemed all that important. He blinked as he turned his head to the side to see that this room, like the other was loaded with bookshelves. He did not recognize many of the cases that were stacked haphazardly on them. 

“You okay?” Polly said sleepily.

“I am..well.” He never had to think about how he felt – because until recently, he'd not had feelings. Or if he did, he had been keeping them repressed for so long that he believed he had none. He rested his hand on her back, buried in her hair. “I...think the drug may be wearing off.”

“You want me to move?” She was fully ready for him to push her away. 

“I won't push you away, Polyhymnia.” He said. “I do not believe... that would be appropriate, given what has...transgressed between us.”

She couldn't repress her chuckle. “I thought I was the one who was supposed to make the euphemisms.” She started to laugh harder. “But I can try and be obvious, if you want to switch personalities for a while.”

“I do not see how it is possible to switch personalities.”

She rolled over onto her back and kept chuckling. “Don't worry about it.” 

Castiel was confused. “I do not understand your behavior.” He frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No...” She sat up, rubbing her face. “Nothing is wrong.” She pulled her hair back into a messy bun. “Do you think...” There was a knock from somewhere in the... wherever it was they were. 

“Oh crap...” Polly threw on the first shirt she found – she wasn't sure if it was hers or not and ran from the room.

He sat up when heard a door open and could hear the conversation clearly.

“Atty? What is it?” There was a nervous tone to her voice.

“Is it true? About Penny?” This woman's voice was lighter than Polly's... it also sounded surprised.

“You're going to have to be more specific.” Came the surprisingly calm reply.

“You know what I mean...” There was a pause. “Oh... oh...” Cas had no idea who Polyhymnia was talking to, but he could hear the dawning realization in her voice. “Oh, shit, Pols – I'm sorry...I'll talk to you later...” There was clear embarrassment in her tone. “I'm glad I knocked.” There was the sound of a door closing and a moment later Polyhymnia came back into the room.

“She doesn't know who's here, but she knows someone is here...” She sat down on the edge of the futon, her face red. “Though I doubt she'll say anything...”

“Who was that?” He sat up, glad that the lucid moments were growing steadily longer.

“My sister, Erato... It's a good thing she's younger than I am, because she'll keep her mouth shut.” She looked down. “I guess I should give you your shirt back.”

“I don't know if I... want it back just yet.” He winced as another drugged feeling swept over him. “I thought I was getting... better.”

“Well, you're not as bad as you were a few hours ago.” She felt his hand on the back of her head. “I'm thinking that it is going to be just six hours... instead of twelve.”

He moved closer to her, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I am.. sorry that things... unfolded this way.”  
“Given the sheer lack of romance in my life, Castiel – I am in no place to complain.” She sighed. 

“I do not understand what you're implying with that phrase. I believe we are friends.”

“Yes, but most friends don't sleep with each other.” She rubbed her face again. 

“We weren't sleeping.” He said in his normal tone of voice. “I have sat in a room while Dean slept. Does that count as sleeping together?”

Polly nearly choked on a laugh. “You really need to work on your understanding of slang.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have been told that before... I believe the instruction was to... not take things so literally.”

“Just don't try to figure out how humans think... I've been walking among them for I don't know how long, a really long time – and I still haven't gotten that worked out.” She rolled her eyes. “And don't get me started on how confusing it is when you visit two different places that speak the same language.. two different types of slang to keep in order.” She shook her head. “Of course, the looks on people's faces when you swear at them in Latin or Ancient Greek are priceless.”

It was Castiel's turn to laugh – and it was not entirely from the drug.


	6. Any Given Sunday

Heather's pancakes were half eaten and had long ago gone cold. She hadn't been able to do more than listen for a long time. Bobby was a little more forthcoming with the information than either of the Winchester brothers were at first – almost as if the two of them didn't want her knowing. Shakily, she took a sip from her glass of water as the conversation slowly drew to a close. The end of it was, in her opinion, the worst. The Apocalypse had begun and she had been thrown smack into the middle of it – and now she knew why her parents were dead. Why Lila and Molly were dead – and why she and Beth almost died. She set the glass down, managing not to spill any, quite a feat, considering how badly her hand was shaking. “So it's all real then... the monsters under the bed, witches, vampires...ghouls, ghosts... all of them are real.”

“Yeah.” Sam said, flatly.

“There aren't any aliens, are there? Like the pop out of your stomach kind?”

“No.” Dean replied. “That, thankfully, _is_ fiction.” 

“One less thing to worry about...” She rubbed her nose. “So you two hunt these things... and that's why you live in your car.”

“Pretty much.” Dean leaned back in his chair. 

“You going to be okay, kid?” Bobby asked.

“I... don't know. I think I'm a little overwhelmed...” She took another sip of water. “I think I need to... absorb all this...”

“I'm actually surprised she's not freaking out.” Dean said.

“I'm too stunned to freak out.” She mumbled and sank down in her chair, frowning. “Is there anything else that I should know? I mean... some ancient Mesopotamian god isn't going to sneak in here and murder us in our beds, or something, are they?”

“No.” Bobby said. “Most of them are already dead. I have a feeling that those that remain are more concerned about staying alive than anything else.”

*

Heather eventually went back upstairs. The cleaning she'd planned to do was forgotten. All she could do was lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The shadows that danced across the walls grew long and eventually the room itself grew dark. It was all to much to take in and yet she somehow knew that it was better that she take it all in now. She had no idea what was happening downstairs, she'd chosen to block out their voices with her headphones. She'd give a lot go to sleep and suddenly wake up and be back home in Jasper – or just wake back up in the hospital there. 

This morning when she woke up she'd been worried about what she was going to do for schooling. Now all that seemed trivial. They hadn't mentioned it, but somehow Heather knew that she wasn't going to have the option of sitting on the sidelines of this whole thing. She knew nothing of fighting or anything remotely close to the sort of stuff the brothers did. _It's kind of weird to call them that, considering one's your uncle and the other..._ She changed the songs on her I-pod, hating herself for the thought that crossed her mind. _My dad's name is Stephen Kittredge, not Dean Winchester._ Then again, he probably didn't want the job. _If he wants to take a big brother route or something, I don't mind._

She knew that she wouldn't sleep tonight – she probably wouldn't sleep tomorrow night either. She probably could stay in this room until the New Year, just leaving to go to the bathroom and getting something to eat. Last night, she'd counted up the money in the envelope her dad had given her – it was just under two thousand dollars. That'd seemed like a lot of money yesterday, plenty to take care of her for the original ten months maximum she was supposed to be gone. Now she'd have to make it last until she was at least fifteen and a half – old enough to get a job. 

Maybe she could at least stay here with Mr. Singer - _Uncle Bobby –_ until she at least got through high school. 

*

Dean had decided he'd had enough of listening to both Bobby and Sam snore at night and had gone up to one of the other empty bedrooms on the second floor. He stretched out on the bed, listening to the house settle around him. For the fifth time today he tried to call Cas on his cell phone and got the same message each time – _The customer you are trying to reach is outside of their service area._ They'd have to get the angel a better cell phone than the one he currently had if he was going to keep getting these messages. 

They'd left out some of the nastier details when they'd told Heather about the world that they lived in. Namely certain people they'd run into that she was better off not knowing about – like Ruby and Bela. He cursed at the mere thought of either of those two women. Well, one woman and one hell bitch. He'd also left the part out about the whole part about the Muses. He wasn't ready to discuss that yet and she'd had enough to comprehend for one day. 

The girl had probably cried her lungs dry this morning. It was obvious to him that she was trying to appear tough in the face of all this. She was probably and properly terrified – and more than likely, would just like to burrow under the covers and pretend this whole thing didn't happen. He knew that his own father more than likely wouldn't have taken that from anyone – even a girl. He'd spent years yelling at Sam that there was no normal life for them. _Yeah. Great dad, what you want me to do? Turn her into a hunter too? I'm sure Stephen Kittredge will be all understanding about that._ He blanched, remembering that Stephen Kittredge wasn't waiting for his little girl to come home – because the home no longer existed.

Well, hell – if all Heather did was bury herself in books or something, he'd not say a damn thing. It wasn't like she could avoid any of it, but he sure as hell wasn't going to throw it all on her the way John Winchester had on his sons. _Mom never wanted this for us – mom wouldn't want this for her. Hell, I don't want it for her._

Dean snorted and turned over on the bed, burying his face into his pillow. When was the last time any member of this family got what they wanted? 

*

Sam couldn't sleep. He had settled down at Bobby's computer, searching through websites, looking for any information on what could be their next case or where Lucifer might be. No _t that it will do us any good without the Colt._ On instinct, he checked a newspaper site in Indiana and found that the strange events were more or less buried. Someone had done a good job of keeping the press quiet. 

This was insane. Four days ago, he was all for kidnapping Heather and keeping her here until this whole thing was over. He then came to the same conclusion that he'd accused Dean of not two days ago. This would be a lot easier if she wasn't a girl. Then again, maybe Ellen could be of help there. He was pretty sure the girl could bond with the Harvelles easier than with two guys who, quite frankly, were to bitter and to involved _and are the two most wanted people by the armies of Heaven and Hell._

Sighing, he turned his attention back to his research. He could remember when he told Adam – or rather, the ghoul he thought was Adam – that if he wanted into this hunter life-style, he'd have to give up his friends, his family, girlfriend, the whole lot of them. It seemed to him that in Heather's case, there wasn't much of that left. 

**

Melpomene stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets as she made her way down the street in Tokyo. It was a chilly afternoon, unusual for this place for this time of the year. This was the sort of place that saw snow maybe once a decade. It was busy, it was loud, it was crowded – all things that she couldn't stand. She'd been wandering around for the better part of a day and a half, waiting for her phone to ring. Just what the hell was her sister doing? Then again, the holidays were approaching and that was typically Polly's busiest time of the year. Speaking of... 

She stopped outside a store that was jammed full of stuffed animals of all kinds and bright red and green signs beckoning to shoppers. She nearly laughed – the percentage of Christians in this country was just over ten percent. Yet, here they were, touting holiday shopping like they all did. If it gets people to buy things, then she supposed it made sense. Of course, everyone who wasn't Christian who celebrated the holiday often claimed to be celebrating the spirit of what Christmas was. Well, it was a nice concept. 

She usually spent said holiday in a children's ward in a hospital. There was just something heartbreaking and yet wonderfully peaceful about a group of kids who were stuck there for the holiday. They were always so hopeful – she'd lost track of how many kids had told her what they wanted most for Christmas was for someone to find a cure for what they had. Many of them had looked up at her and told her that it was to late for them – but they prayed that it'd be found before it was to late for someone else. Penny had left countless hospitals cursing her inability to heal anyone but herself. 

Turning, she started back down the street and felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. “Finally.” She took it out and looked at the number – it was unknown. “Peachy.” She flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” It was Castiel. 

“One second, let me get out of the line of traffic.” She turned and went down a narrow alley that reeked of cabbage and assorted garbage. “Tokyo.” She replied and jumped when she felt a hand clamp on her shoulder. “Don't do...” When she turned around she saw that it wasn't Castiel. She turned the phone off and dropped it in her pocket as the hand fell back. 

“You've grown up considerably since the last time I saw you.” 

She crossed her arms and raised her chin slightly. “Lucifer.” He'd changed in only one regard – his wings were no longer a blazing shade of white, but black as obsidian. “Something I can help you with?”

“I just wanted to confirm something and you just happened to be the first Muse I came across.” He reached out and grabbed her chin, turning her face from side to side. “Such pretty blue eyes... like your mother's.” He smiled and Penny could see the blisters forming on his face, the human vessel he was wearing could barely hold him. “You had another sister with you that day... she looked just like you... only...” He tapped her nose like some kind of fond uncle. “Oh yes, her eyes were brown.” He stepped back, still studying her. “Such a fine job you and your family have done. I've heard the stories you've given mankind...” He slowly started to circle her. “I particularly liked the one about the girl named Pandora. Little reference to the mistake a certain someone made?” 

Melpomene held her elbows in her hands, watching him. She knew full well that neither of them could kill the other and the only victims if they started fighting would be the people of this, the most populated city on the planet. She seriously doubted if there'd be much of Tokyo left to speak of.

“You have such pity for these pathetic creations...” He looked towards the busy street. “Look what they've done to this beautiful place. They've crushed it under their feet and they try to bend this wondrous creation to their will.” He saw her flinch. “You remember what it was like, before they existed? Everything was clean and pure... there was order and beauty everywhere... and now, now it's nothing but destruction and chaos.”

“Hell used to be empty.” She said in reply. “There was nothing there but room after room of nothing.”  
“I believe you were told to stay out of it.” His smile widened when he saw her blanch. “So really, I was justified in killing your uncle.” He reached out again and brushed a finger against her cheek. “I remain stunned that you, your sister and that... who was that other person with you...” He smirked. “Oh yes... that other uncle of yours – Hephaestus.” He chuckled darkly. “You must have left in a hurry – as his forge was left behind.” He leaned back against the wall. “He made twenty blades in that dark place before I was imprisoned there...” He glanced to the entrance to the street and saw that it was hazy – any human who looked in would see nothing. “And I believe this...” A long sword swung out from his hand, the blade shone with untold fire and power that could cleave a mountain in half. “Is the third one.” He circled her again, the tip of the weapon inches from her face. The heat of it singed her hair. “I know that Michael has the second...and you have the fifth...” 

“If you're wanting to know where the remaining seventeen are, I'm afraid I can't help you. I was bound to secrecy on that.”

“I don't care about the swords....” He nicked her cheek with the edge and a faint trickle of blood started down her face. “I'd actually like to thank you for getting rid of Surgat... the demon never could follow simple instructions. He let himself get knocked out of that stupid man by a Hebrew wielding a fishbowl.” He stopped and put the point under her chin, his eyes narrowing. “You also did a very lovely job of hiding that little girl of yours.”

If it were possible, Melpomene would have gone whiter. She knew it wouldn't have taken the angel long to figure it out – but hearing it said somehow made it more horrifying. “What is it that you want?”

“From you? Nothing. All I want is Sam Winchester – alive. Consider this a warning – do not try to hide him or his brother in your home. If you do, I will tell my army to start slaughtering humanity, starting with the children.” He lifted her face with the flat of the blade. “And your daughter will be the first one to die.” He smiled then, a cold, depraved and sinister grin graced his features. “And you know all to well how creative I can be when it comes to killing someone.”

Then he was gone.

Penny backed into a wall, breathing hard. This was rapidly going from bad to worse. Her phone started ringing again. She wondered if it had been ringing the entire time she stood in the alley. Swallowing, she shifted away from Tokyo to the other side of the world before answering. “He... hello?” She winced as her voice cracked.

“Melpomene.” Castiel's voice again. “That wasn't funny, hanging up on me.”

“I had a really, really good reason.” She leaned against the building she'd landed next to. 

“Where in Tokyo are you?” 

“I'm not there anymore. I'm in London.” She swallowed. “I take this is about...”

“Yes.” He said, appearing beside her. He tilted his head to the side. “You're bleeding.” 

“I'm fine.” She pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket and stuffed her cell into the other. 

“You know where the Colt is.” He said, and noticed a small burn under her chin.

“I don't know where, I just know who.” She dabbed at her cheek and then winced. “Give me a day or two, and I can probably find them.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “Something about you has changed...” She studied the angel for a moment. “I don't know what it is... but you're not the same... as you were a week ago.”

“It is not your concern.” He said in reply. “I would appreciate it if you did not press the issue.” 

“I do hope that you don't honestly think that the Colt will kill Lucifer.” She finished cleaning the cut on her cheek, knowing she'd have a scar. “But I'd rather it be back in the hands of hunters, rather than demons.”

“The Colt is designed to kill all supernatural beings.” He answered.

“What do they teach you in angel school? Not to mention the fact that the time Samuel Colt made the gun, no hunter had seen an angel – and given his religious upbringing, it's highly unlikely he would have designed the weapon to kill them.” She unconsciously bit her bottom lip. “Or have you forgotten that Lucifer is _still_ an angel?”

“You're not omnipotent.” His voice had a touch of contempt in it. “And I have not forgotten what Lucifer is.” He vanished.

She held her face in her hands, rubbing her eyes. “Apparently you've forgotten that the only thing that can kill an angel is another angel.” If demons could kill angels, they'd have stormed Heaven centuries ago. Then she remembered something she hadn't thought about in eons. She wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry about it – but one thing was for sure – wherever the Winchester brothers were hiding at the moment, they, along with Castiel were in for a bit of a shock. Assuming, of course, her sister and she had actually managed to pull their little plan off.

**

Wednesday passed at a crawl. Heather never came downstairs, not even to eat. Sam and Dean made a trip to the grocery store in the morning, stocking up on supplies as the forecast had called for heavy amounts of snow before tomorrow. This was both out of concern and necessity – with only one good leg, Bobby wasn't the best of drivers. They weren't planning on staying much longer in South Dakota, having finally coming to the conclusion that the kids in Little Rock weren't making things up when the cattle mutilations started. Hopefully, they could make it far enough south where the massive storm that was rolling across the plains would bring rain, not as snow, during the night. 

Dean knocked on the door of Heather's room twice before he opened the door a fraction of an inch. She was exactly where she'd been when he checked on her before he and Sam went to the store, five hours earlier. She was lying on the bed so that she was half hanging off of it, her legs propped up against the wall. “You trying to pass out?”

Heather opened her eyes and glanced to the door. “No.” She closed them again. “I don't want anything to eat.”

“Sure.” He opened the door a little wider. “Would you sit up, please?”

Sighing a little louder than she normally would, she hauled herself up and turned to face him, resting her hands in her lap. “Yes?”

“Listen, me and Sam are going away for a few days. We should be back sometime next week.” He glanced at his watch. “So uh, try to stay out of trouble... and don't do anything dangerous up here... because Bobby can't climb the stairs without help.”

“I won't.” She rubbed her nose. She mentally added the comments in her mind to remember to be polite and helpful and not to cause any trouble. 

“See you in a few.” He started to close the door. “Oh, one more thing – if the weather gets really bad and the power goes out... you'll need to stay in the main room downstairs where there's a fireplace.”

“Sure.” She rolled back onto her back. “Have a safe trip.”

“We'll try.” He closed the door and went downstairs where Sam was waiting. They pulled on their coats and picked up their bags and headed out to the Impala. 

Upstairs, Heather heard the door open and shut. She pulled herself up and went to the window as she heard the trunk of the car being closed. She watched the two brothers talk for a moment and then they got into the car. As they did, Dean looked up at her window, but instead of doing something like waving, she merely backed away from the window and sat down on the floor of the room. A minute later, the engine of the car roared and then pulled away. 

For the first time, Heather actually felt like an orphan.

**

Another school day was over and the bus was full of kids yelling and chattering over the events of the day. Several sports were already in full swing and Patrick Henry Middle School was the heavy favorite for city champions in both girls and boys basketball. Nearly half the people on the bus would be back at school tonight for the game against Harrisburg Middle. Nate Turabian wasn't sure if he would be able to make the game or not – even though half of his friends were on the team. His parents had told him that he had to pick just one sport to participate in this year – he didn't need the distraction from his academics, according to them. Nate had chosen soccer, which wasn't played until the spring.

He dug his I-Pod out of his backpack, dodging the ball of paper that sailed over his head and hit the person sitting behind him. With the friends he had on this bus on the basketball team, he was sitting alone as he put on his earphones and drowned out the noise of the bus with Sparta's 'Taking Back Control.' He glanced out the window and caught sight of a seriously cool looking black car that was waiting in the turn lane. “Sweet.” He could vaguely make out a shaggy haired passenger and the Chevy emblem on the side. 

“Hey.” Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he pulled off the earphones.

“Yeah?” He didn't recognize the girl sitting behind him, she was a few years younger than him. 

“I'm sorry to bug you, but I'm doing this contest sort of thing with some on-line friends. The idea being to see if you can find someone born on every day of the year.”

“What, some kind of hobbit sort of thing?”

“Huh?” The girl looked confused. “I've not read that book.”

“You should.” He started to put his headphones back on. 

“Just...”

“My name's Nate. My birthday is August tenth.” He frowned. “What's yours?”

“Oh, I'm Jenna – my birthday is March thirteenth.” She jotted down what she had told him. “Thanks. The August birthdays are hard to find for some reason...” 

The rest was cut off from his hearing as he started blasting out his ears again. 

**

Heather eventually came downstairs after ten o'clock. Bobby was engrossed in one of his books and didn't look up until she was halfway across the room. “Hungry?”

“A little...” She shrugged. “I just need a sandwich, or something...”

“You know where every thing is?”

“Uh huh. Thanks.” She shuffled into the kitchen and got down a plate and some bread. “When is it supposed to start snowing?”

“Around midnight – one thing you have to know about South Dakota – winter likes to show up in October and stay until April.”

“I can handle snow.” She got some lunch-meat, cheese and lettuce from the fridge. 

“See if you feel that way when there's three feet of it on the ground.” He replied. 

“Three feet? Is that a light snow or a normal snow?” 

“I'd say normal. Light is one foot.” He said with a gruff laugh.

“I'll keep that in mind. I noticed there's a shot gun under the bed in the room I'm staying in... you want me to leave it there or you want me to bring it down?”

“Better bring it down and put it on the coffee table.. can't have you accidentally shooting yourself in the foot.”

“I don't even know how to fire a gun.” She got a knife out of the drawer.

“You want to learn?” He said in reply, his voice turning serious.

“Can I get back to you on that one?” She finished putting her small meal together and just as she put the items back into the fridge there was a strange rustling noise from behind her. 

“That you, Cas?” Bobby called out.

“Yes.” A calm voice said from behind her. 

“The boys aren't here. They left a few hours ago.” He wheeled himself into the kitchen. “They tried to call you earlier.”

“My phone is not working.” Castiel looked from Bobby to the figure by the fridge, who had slowly turned and was staring at him. “Hello, Heather.”

Heather was dumbstruck for a full minute. “Hi...you're...” She tried to remember the name from earlier, but found it hard to think straight.

“Castiel.” He took her hand in both of his. “You have your father's face...” His eyes narrowed very slightly. “But eyes... like your mother.” He caught the thought from her that immediately followed his words. “I do not mean to compare you to a fictional boy wizard, but it is true.” He let her hand go. 

“I don't think Dean's told her about that yet.” Bobby said from the doorway. 

“Told me about what?” She looked from one to the other. “Please don't tell me I'm like, half demon or something...”

“No, kid – you're not half demon. Smart girl like you would have been able to figure that out – if you were, you probably would have burned yourself with holy water a long time ago.” The old hunter said, almost laughing. He retreated to the other room.

“I'm sitting down...” She took her plate and sunk into one of the kitchen chairs. “I'm having trouble comprehending that an angel has read _Harry Potter_.” She picked up her sandwich and glanced back up at Castiel and then quickly back at her plate. “Would you like a sandwich too?”

“No, thank you.” He titled his head to the side, trying to figure out what was unnerving the girl so much. Now that he was encountering her awake, he was struck by the stark difference between her and Claire Novak. They had some similarities – a strong sense of faith and love of reading. But where Claire's mind had a clear path and seemed certain of where she was going, Heather seemed lost. Not surprising, given the past week. There was something else about her that was different. He hadn't known she was in the house until he had seen her. The faint trace of an encounter with another angel was hanging over her. He could just barely make out the Enochian wards engraved in her bones – only hers had been put there by someone whose power dwarfed his: Gabriel. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I expect....” Her voice was shaking. “That for someone who has lost their parents, their home and the only life they've ever known, I am doing... okay.” She took a large bite of her meal as Bobby came back into the room with a book which he set on the table next to her.

“If you're wanting to know about who your mother is... this is probably the best place to start.” 

She swallowed the food and picked up the book, giving the cover a once over and then giving him a very skeptical look. “This is a book on Greek Mythology.”

“That's right.” He said, giving a sideways glance to Castiel. 

“Uh, there's no such things as...”

“Don't be such an idjit, girl...” Bobby replied, surprised he could keep his tone calm. “We told you yesterday that all those monsters you thought weren't real are real... so are a lot of other things.” He pointed at the book. “The page you should read is marked.”

She sighed and opened the book. “Muses...” She took another bite of sandwich while she read and heard Bobby ask Castiel for his cell phone. She vaguely heard him tell the angel that it just needed to be charged. The fact the angel had a phone was funny in and of itself. There was a small asterisk next to one of the names on the list of muses – _Melpomene_. 

When she finished reading, she saw that Bobby was sitting across from her, drinking a beer. “Not exactly the nicest way to tell you, I'll admit.”

She shut the book and carefully set it down on the table. She was guessing it was older than Bobby. “If I still said I think that's a load of bull crap, would I be in trouble?”

“No, but it still doesn't deny the fact that it's true.” He nodded at Castiel. “Just because he doesn't look like an angel doesn't mean he's not one.”

“What are you talking about?” She looked over at him, confused. “Of course he looks like an angel.” She blinked. “I mean, not consistently... it's sort of like those images where you turn them from side to side to see two different pictures.” 

Castiel was taken aback. “What?” It was impossible for someone, _anyone human_ – to be able to see an angel in it's true form and when it was in a vessel at the same time. The other half of her parentage wasn't the issue – all of the Muses children were as mortal and as human as their fathers. 

The old hunter did his best to stay calm when he spoke. “Sure kid.” He was wondering how she could see an angel and not have her eyes burn out her skull.

Heather folded her arms, looking indignant. “He's eight and a half feet tall and has wings. I'm guessing the only reason they're folded behind his back is because they'd probably knock everything off the shelves in here if they weren't.” 

“Is she...”

“Yes.” Castiel tilted his head to the side, trying to make sense of this. 

“I uh....” She backed away the chair away from the table and picked up the plate with her sandwich and the book. “Is it okay if I uh...”

“Sure kid.” Bobby said. “Just wipe up any crumbs that fall on the floor.”

“Thanks.” Heather nodded at Castiel. “Nice meeting you. Good night...” She made a hasty exit and hurried up the stairs. As soon as she got to the room, she shut the door and leaned against it. “Please let the weird end soon...” She sat down on the floor and, hands shaking, she opened the book and started to read again.

*

Downstairs, Bobby took a long swig of beer and looked up at Cas. “I take it she's not supposed to be able to do that.”

“No. Do not concern yourself with it. I will... find out the reason for it.” He said. There were more pressing matters at hand. “I believe our wait to find the Colt is almost over.”

“You know where it is?” His voice actually sounded relieved and his face showed it.

“No. But I know of someone who knows who has it.” He leaned back against the sink. “She will call me when she has located the demon in question.”

***

Bobby's estimate of it being a regular South Dakota light snow was wrong. Well, sort of – it snowed for two days, stopped for a whole day – and on Saturday afternoon, started snowing again. Heather woke up on Sunday morning and didn't remember falling asleep – but she guessed she must have finally given up to exhaustion sometime during the night. She could hear the television blaring about the weather – as if anyone could miss the flakes that appeared to be the size of nickels if they looked out the window. The old hunter hadn't let her stay upstairs and be alone – truth was, she hadn't wanted to. Her opinion of the man was that he was more lonely than he ever let on to anyone else – and she found his company a little more bearable than when she had first arrived. Pulling on a sweater and stuffing her feet into her shoes, she went downstairs, rubbing her face. “Morning.”

Bobby was sitting in his easy chair, glaring at the television, his arms folded. “Sick of snow yet?”

“No, but if this keeps up, ask me again in January.” She rubbed her nose. “You want more coffee?” She nodded at his mug.

“Yeah...” He said in reply, his eyes narrowing. “Get yourself some too...” He cleared his throat. “Already gotten more snow in the past few weeks than all of last year.”

After refilling Bobby's mug and filling one for herself and adding milk, she came back into the other room. “Well, didn't it rain constantly in the Great Plains in, what was it, ninety three?”

“It'd rain for two days and then stop... and rain again two days later. So there never was time for the water to recede... that's why the flood happened.”

“The roof won't collapse, or anything, will it?”

“No, kid.” He took a sip of coffee. “Good thing we've got plenty of supplies...I'd rather not have to go out in this mess.”

“But you're used to it snowing, right? I mean, weather wise?”

“Meaning?”

“Well, someone in South Dakota can handle a week's worth of snow a lot better than someone in South Carolina.” She shrugged. “How far south does the storm go?”

“All the way down to the Texas-Oklahoma border... but it's rain from the middle of Kansas down.” He chuckled. “If it snows for a half an hour in South Carolina, they'd declare a state of emergency.”

Heather laughed. “When I lived in Indianapolis, a girl moved there with her family from Hawaii. She declared it was cold as soon as it got down to fifty degrees. We had to tell her that it hadn't even started to get cold.”

Bobby snorted in response. “How you sleeping?”

“Okay, I guess...” She shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “I think I finally slept more than three hours last night.”

“Not having nightmares, are you?”

“No, I just can't sleep.”

“Understandable.” He hauled himself into his wheelchair and turned himself to the kitchen. “Well, you've run out of rooms to straighten upstairs and I'm running out of guns to have you clean.” He coughed. “Which, I might add – you learned how to do rather quickly.” 

“Well, it's not like I had much of anything else to do... since I can't read all the time.”

“True.” He laughed. “But it'd be nice to be able to. Might as well get things reorganized around here, since I can't walk upstairs and you seem to be stuck here for the time being.” He parked himself on one end of the kitchen table. “First things first, however...I want to get the wards on this place renewed. For that, I'm going to need your help.”

“Okay.” She sat down at the table, setting her mug in front of her. “What do I have to do?”

“There's a wood pile on the side of the house – I need you to bundle up and refill the pile I have on the porch to start out with. It'll take about a day to get the ritual ready, but you can't burn wet wood – so you'll have to bring some in to dry out.”

“Sure.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um...I don't have any snow boots.”

Bobby glanced down under the table and frowned at her shoes. “There are some galoshes in the hall closet, you can wear them over the shoes you have on.” 

“I'm sorry, I was told to...”

“Don't start apologizing, there's nothing to apologize for.” He took a sip of coffee. “You probably can find some extra gloves and a hat in the closet as well.”

“Okay.” She drained the last of the contents of her mug. “Might as well get started on that – before you tell me I have to clean a Gatling gun, or something.”

“I don't have one of those.” He frowned. 

“You could probably build yourself one with all the spare parts you've got in the basement. I'm sure there's directions for that _somewhere_ on the Internet.” She stood up. “I'll get to work on moving the wood pile.”

Bobby put a hand on her arm as she started to leave the room. “You be careful out there – the snow's pretty deep.”

“I will.” She managed a weak smile and she went into the hallway where the stairs were.

“There should be an old coat or two in that closet... they'd probably be better for you to wear, yours is pretty bulky.” He turned from the table and wheeled himself into the family room. “You can get more in an armload.”

“Okay.” She opened the closet and found the boots he'd mentioned – there was enough room for her to put her whole foot, shoe and all, inside. He'd also been right about the coats – there were at least a dozen of them. The smallest of which, when she pulled it on, the sleeves still came down over her hands. “I feel like I'm playing a really twisted version of dress-up.”

He chuckled. “It'll keep you warm.” 

She fastened up the coat and pulled the hood over her head. “Well, it's a lot more than a lot of people have.” There was an old pair of gloves in the pockets. “Which side of the house is the wood pile on?”

“The side that faces where the truck is parked. The drifts shouldn't be to bad.”

“I'll be back in a little bit...” She headed across the room and headed outside.

**

The problem in Little Rock proved to be nothing more than the usual salt-and-burn mission. The simplicity of it had made it almost seem to easy. They'd left Arkansas and were headed onward to Tallahassee, headed for a string of killings that could only be linked to a vampire. Sam rubbed his face and yawned. “You talk to Bobby lately?”

“Last night.” Dean replied, whipping the Impala into the left lane and racing past an eighteen wheeler. “I hate driving the interstate.”

“Except in South Dakota when you're allowed to go eighty.”

“That's different.” He frowned. “Bobby said it's still snowing up there.”

“Wonder if Heather's picked his brain dry with questions.” He said with a small laugh.

“She doesn't strike me as the questioning type. He said he taught her how to clean guns.”

“Seriously?” He wasn't sure if he should laugh or frown at that. “By the time we were her age, we could do that... hell, by the time I was her age, I knew how to fire one.”

“You first fired a gun when you were eight.”

“I remember... killed that deer.” Sam grinned. “I thought it took your gun.”

“Yeah.” Dean almost laughed. “I wish Cas would call.”

“Me too. You really think Melpomene is going to help us get the Colt back?”

“He seems to think so.” He swerved back into the right lane. “Maybe we'll have a run of good luck unheard of in our lives and this will all be over by Christmas.”

“That'd be nice.” Sam said, turning his gaze out the window. “Talked to Ellen this morning before we left... they're headed back north to South Dakota day after tomorrow.”

“Not with all that snow they've been getting up there, they aren't.” He checked the gas gauge as they passed a road sign listing the services in the next town. “There's something else that Cas told me... it's about Heather.”

“What about her?” He could tell just by the tone in his brother's voice, it had him slightly worried.

“For some reason, she can see what Cas looks like... in angel form.”

Sam blinked. “What?”

“Yeah.” He glanced sideways at him. “Cas told me that kids like her don't have any freaky gifts. Looks like he's been proven wrong.”

“So she can see angels but not demons?” He shook his head. “That's just...”

“Get this – Cas told me he asked that Polly chick if that's even possible – and Polly said it wasn't.”

“You think something happened to her between the time we found her and her parents died?”

“I don't know. He also told me that Gabriel, snarky bastard that he is, found her too – and, thanks to him, no angel can find Heather now.”

“So she's been marked with sigils, like we are.” He shook his head. “Well, at least we know she's mostly safe now.”

“I still want to know why she can see angels and not have her eyes burn out of their sockets.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Didn't Cas originally think you'd be able to perceive his true visage at first?”

“Yeah...” He gave his brother a sideways glance. “Then again, maybe she can see demons now too...” He swung the car onto the off-ramp. “So much for not having freaky powers.”

“Maybe Polly was wrong about the children of Muses not having powers. Maybe it's just certain ones...” He shrugged. 

“Possible.” He pulled into the service station. “What time is it, anyway?”

Sam checked his watch. “It's just after four.” He answered as they got out of the car and he stretched his legs and headed into the building as Dean moved to fill the Impala up with gas. As the elder Winchester leaned against the car, his cell phone rang.

“Finally.” He pulled the device out of his pocket, checked the number and answered it. “Cas.”

“Dean.” The angel replied. “Where are you?”

“Some tiny ass town in Georgia – what's the good news?”

“Melpomene has located the demon who has the Colt.”

“She there with you?” He kept his eyes on the gas pump, watching the numbers flick past.

“Yes.” Cas was quiet. “Do you wish to speak with her?”

“That's an understatement.” He replied and then he heard a slight shuffle. 

“Hello?” A woman's voice sounded in his ear. A voice he'd not heard in nearly two years, but could still remember clearly. He'd gone over in his head a million things he'd wanted to say to Melpomene over the past two weeks and now, he found himself actually being civil.

“I take it you don't have the Colt with you.” He didn't bother with a greeting.

“No.” Penny's voice remained calm. “I assumed you didn't trust me enough to retrieve it and return it to you personally.”

“Damn right.” He snapped. 

“Dean.” Castiel's voice answered him. Not from the phone, but from directly behind him. 

He turned and hung up the phone, blinking. “That was fast.” He heard the machine behind him ping to announce the tank was full. He turned only to hang up the pump and put the gas cap back on. He looked from Cas to the woman standing next to him, frowning. The last time he'd seen Melpomene, she'd been in jeans and red shirt, looking utterly hot. Now, she was entirely different, dressed in a dark green wool coat and her hair in a severe bun – but, he had to admit to himself, she was still one of the best looking women he'd ever come across. 

Sam coughed behind him. “I take it we're not going to Tallahassee.” 

“If you're referring to the vampire nest, that's already taken care of.” Melpomene said. “Well, almost.”

“Taken care of?” Dean spat. “Who? When?”

“Callie has this issue with vampires. More than I do... which is kind of surprising, since I knew Mr. Stoker a lot better than she did.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That's not important right now.” She folded her arms again. 

“I thought you weren't supposed to fight unless you were attacked first.” Sam said, frowning.

She gave Castiel a sideways glance. “Well, since the armies of Heaven and Hell are currently engaged in a stalemate of siege warfare to rival the trenches of first World War, no one is paying much attention to what my sisters and I are up to.” She shook her head. “Or what any of the rest of them...”

Dean frowned and leaned against the car. “Where's the demon?”

“Crowley?” She smiled. “What, did you want me to bring him with me?”

Sam gave the tiniest hint of a snort. “I think I prefer this Muse to the other one...”

“Dean...” Castiel broke in. 

“Right.” Not letting the angel finish his sentence, he frowned. He'd already discussed with Sam what they would do when they finally heard from the angel. “You.” He pointed at Melpomene. “Get in the car.”

She nodded and walked over towards him and Sam started to walk away from it, over to Castiel. She'd been expecting something like this. Quite frankly, she didn't blame any of them for this. Given that in all her life she'd never had to have the discussion she was bound to be having with the elder Winchester, she maintained her stony expression. A minute later, the driver's side door opened and Dean slammed it shut.

“Where are we going?”

“Raleigh, North Carolina.” She set her hands in her lap, saying nothing else as they pulled out of the station with a squeal.


	7. Sense, Sensibility and Angels

Sam's boots crunched in the snow as he made his way up to Bobby's house. The ruts made by the Impala when they'd driven out of here on Thursday were gone – they'd been filled in and covered over by more snow. Bobby's truck was half buried in the white powder. The only tracks in the snow were those made by Heather, though why she'd been outside, he didn't know. Although from the tracks, he could tell that she'd been wearing boots that didn't quite fit her. The ramp had been shoveled off and salted and as he mounted it, he got his answer to as why the girl had been outside – there was a massive pile of firewood that hadn't been on the porch when he and Dean had left several days ago. Even though this was the closest thing he had to a home, he didn't feel he had the right to just walk in. He'd told Cas that before they'd left, and the angel remained passive as he saw Heather peer out the blind before opening the door.

“Mr... uncle Bobby, Sam's back.” She stepped aside to let the pair in. “So is Castiel.”

“Where's Dean?” Bobby said, coming into the room. 

“He's gone to get the Colt.” He replied. “What's with the firewood?”

“Call it being prepared.” He gave the angel a sideways glance and watched as Heather shut the door and locked it. “You haven't found God yet, have you?”

“No.” His voice remained passive but he didn't miss the look the girl gave the old hunter. She actually looked – _disgusted._ He saw her face go back to being straight as she shuffled out of the room. A moment later, a door slammed upstairs. 

“That kid...” Bobby said as he rolled himself over to the fridge. “I think she's getting a little tired of this place already.”

Sam took the beer that he was handed. “Maybe she just needs to get out a bit – other than to get firewood.”

“Probably. I'm not to crazy about being holed up in here for days on end either.” He opened his beer. “She also doesn't talk much...” 

Castiel moved out of the kitchen unnoticed. The two hunters were talking about what had happened in Little Rock and on Bobby Singer's plan to renew the wards on the house. He knew that while Bobby and Sam could sympathize with the girl some, they really didn't know how to act towards her. Then again, neither did he. He stood outside her door, frowning. He knocked once, not expecting her to answer. 

“I had a big lunch, Sam. I'm not hungry.” 

“Heather.” He said in reply. “I am not Sam.” He heard a shuffle and then the door cracked open.

“Sorry, Castiel.” She looked down at the floor. “I thought you'd left again.”

“No.” He tilted his head to the side and caught a thought from her. “Is that really how you feel?”

“It's what I am, isn't it?” She was a little wigged out by the fact he'd answered her thought about feeling like an orphan. 

“No one is ever completely abandoned, Heather.” He kept his head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed slightly. “The reason Dean treats you the way he does is because he does not know how to treat you.” He saw her open the door a little wider and she leaned against it for support. “And it not wrong to want your old home or your parents back.” 

She still wouldn't look up at him, but she felt the tears start to slide down her cheeks. “Why is it all those expressions they tell you about getting through hard times sound great until you have actually apply them?”

“I am afraid I cannot answer that.” He heard her sniffle. “No one expects you to deal with your grief alone.”

“That's news to me.” The was an edge to her voice. “Everyone else around here seems to just bury their emotions away.”

“You are allowed to be angry.” He said firmly. “You have done remarkably well considering the number of things you've had to deal with in the past week.” He caught another thought from her. “And you still have your faith.”

“Faith is the one thing that no one can ever take from you.” She finally looked up. “Even if I did first hear that from an animated movie.” She sniffled. 

“It is true. You are also allowed to cry.” He tilted his head to the side again as he caught another thought from her. “I also do not think that wanting to go to church on a Sunday is an irrational wish.”

“I don't think anyone around here would be willing to go with me, and I doubt the bus line is this city goes by the salvage yard.”

The angel blinked in surprise. “There, I believe, you are mistaken.” 

She shifted her weight. “I don't want to inconvenience anyone.”

“I do not consider it that.” The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “You are a Catholic, correct?”

“Yes.” She blinked and then her eyes widened. “You don't mean...”

“Is this a problem?” Castiel thought his solution was perfectly logical. Heather wished to go to his Father's house – and he wanted to find his Father. There was nothing preventing him from entering a church – of any denomination. Nor did he need to fear being harmed there. He had to think of the last time he actually attended or watched any kind of church service – and then remembers – he'd watched over a Baptist service in Pontiac, Illinois – two days before he asked Jimmy Novak to be his vessel. _Why did no one ever call him James?_ “It would be best if you put on a coat before we left.” He gave her another fraction of a smile. He was glad to see her return it.

*

The silence in the Impala was deafening. The two of them had been driving in utter silence for the past three hours – and there were seven more to go. It was dark now and Dean knew that driving through the night wasn't going to be an option. He'd need sleep sooner or later – he wasn't going up against a powerful demon without resting. He glanced over at the woman in the passenger seat for the millionth time and finally, she broke the silence.

“If you're that bloody pissed at me, Dean Winchester, we can pull over in the next roadside park and unload a clip full of bullets into me.” She shrugged. “Granted, all you'll succeed in doing is wasting thirty bullets and ruining the coat I'm wearing, but if will make you feel better, I won't object.” She flicked a glance at him. “Though I wouldn't suggest punching me in the face... that would probably hurt you more than me.” 

He gave her a look. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” She turned her gaze back out the front window.

“Is this how you normally are?” He swerved the car into the passing lane. “This... aloof smart-ass?”

“Aloof no, smart-ass, yes. I felt you had more of the right to start the conversation than I did.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You ever tell any of the others?”

“What others?”

“The other fathers... I'm guessing Heather isn't the only child you've had.”

“No, she isn't. Although she is the only girl.” She leaned back slightly in the seat, involuntarily rubbing the small stone that hung from a chain around her neck. “And no, I never told any of the others.”

“And how many is that?” He snorted. “You've got to be close to the same age as Cas, so that'd be what... least a hundred...” The Impala suddenly spun around as if it had hit a patch of black ice. He had to struggle to right the car and when he did, he glance over to see that Melpomene's face was black with rage. 

“I have four children.” She said through clenched teeth. “The sister with the largest number of children is Euterpe and she has had eleven. But that is only if you count the mortal children.” 

He blanched as they started forward again. “Wait a minute... did you just...”

“Be glad this car is still in one piece.” She growled. “I could crush it and you as easily as you could crush a bug.”

He swallowed. “Mortal children?”

“Only a few of us have straight mortal children – I'm one of them, along with Clio and Urania. The rest of my sisters have had a few...” She stiffened. “Let's just say that the two I mentioned and I have only ever been interested in humans... most pagan gods are, by their very nature, arrogant bastards.”

“You're not arrogant?” Dean knew he was probably pushing it by asking that.

“I can be. But not as bad as some. I've also found that the bigger a man's ego, the worse they are at intimacy.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would like to state for the record, I knew you were going to Hell. I just didn't think you'd be getting out.” 

“You knew?” He said, incredulously.

“Anyone who's made a deal with a cross-roads demon has a certain scent upon them. That's the reason the Last Calusa didn't take you hostage in Key West. There's an honor among demons... you don't take what belongs to someone else.” She shook her head. “I went down there to get away from everyone.”

“Muses take vacations?”

“I don't exactly have a time when I'm particularly busy...” She held her palm out, as if explaining things to him a matter-of-fact way. “But all those writers were going on strike – I figured I'd take a few days off.”

Dean laughed. “You the one who got _Lost_ started?”

“No, that would be Clio.” She shook her head. “Trouble with the stuff I help out on are loved by fans and hated by networks.” She frowned. “Breaks my heart that Joss's shows keep getting tossed aside.”

“Joss? You mean Joss Whedon?” He glanced at the sign stating there was food and lodging at the next exit. 

“The very one. Thalia's still pissed I swiped him out from under her nose... though it's nothing new. My sisters and I are always snatching artists from one another the way other children steal each other's toys.” She chuckled. “The only people whose calls we don't return is anyone from Disney – after they insulted my sisters and I in _Hercules_ , we bailed on them.” She folded her arms and shook her head. “I'm surprised Tia didn't kill someone.”

He shot her a look. “You're joking, right?”

“For some reason, they thought she was a four hundred pound soul singer who tosses her own head around for kicks...In reality, she's still able to pass for a student at movie theaters.”

He remembered what he and Sam had found when they discovered there were fans of Chuck's _Supernatural_ books and what they said about him and his brother. “Yeah... I think I can sort of relate.”

“We all walked out of that movie...” She shook her head. “Now all they have are those straight to DVD sequels...” She smirked and folded her arms. “Polly was actually the last one to bail on them. She's actually glad they abandoned _Narnia_ out and someone else grabbed it up.”

“Please tell me that you're not responsible for _Twilight_.”

“None of us put that idea in her head. People can always come up with bad ideas all on their own. That's why there's fan fiction. However, Meyer is inadvertently the reason we can get the Colt back from Crowley easily.”

“How so?” He steered the car onto the off-ramp.

“I've had to keep a lot of good vampire stories from being published until after that series was well underway.” She shook her head. “That woman is going to wig out before her ten years are up. She won't be the first or the last.”

“Seriously?” He said incredulously. 

“Not all those accidental drug overdoses are accidental.” She closed her eyes. “It's horrible to watch people who haven't made deals get into drugs and then destroy themselves...case in point, River Phoenix.” She sighed. “I've lost dozens of artists who had such promise...” She swallowed. “and the ones that are accidental...like that poor Ledger boy...” 

“You need a drink, I need a drink...” Dean said as he turned into a diner. “And food... preferably something with a lot of grease.”

“Well, we are in Georgia.” She smiled faintly. “That means good food just about anywhere.” She peered out the window at the diner. “I wonder if this place has goober-burgers. “ 

“What's that?”

“A burger with peanut butter.” The smile became more pronounced. “Just like the people who created Ranch dressing, Mr. Kellogg was not paid enough for his invention.”

*

Castiel sat placidly in Holy Spirit Church, letting his mind slowly skim across the people there. Some were praying for the winter to be mild, others were asking for help getting through the week, others for health – and in the minds of a few of the children, there were Christmas wishes. The service hadn't begun yet and for the first time in several weeks, he felt calm. He caught more snatches of prayers, someone was praying they'd win the lottery. There was a bottomless pit in a corner of Heaven where that sort of request was tossed. Castiel knew the only reason he was focusing on other prayers was so that he wouldn't hear Heather's.

He merely glanced at her and caught an internal tirade that he'd only seen the likes of before in Sam Winchester. He knew it would do no good to tell the child that no, she wasn't being punished. She wasn't mad at God, she was just wondering if she'd accidentally gotten two people's worth of troubles. Then he caught other things and one of them actually made him focus on what was racing through her mind: I _don't know what Mr. Singer was thinking, asking an angel if they've found God. If anyone knows where God is, it's an angel._  
  
Heather shifted uncomfortably and rose from the kneeler, reaching for the hymnal that was tucked into a shelf in front of her and she checked the number on the stand by the altar. She flipped through the pages and gave a small smile. “I know this one - always liked it too.” She looked over at Castiel. “Thank you, by the way.”

“You are welcome, Heather.” The angel glanced down at the hymnal – he knew this song too. Granted, he knew all the songs in the book – but some were a little better than others. “It is my pleasure.” 

The cantor came to the lectern next to the piano and welcomed them to the church for the celebration for the second Sunday of Advent and asked for the congregation to turn off or silence their pagers. “Please turn to number four-oh-four in the green hymnal, 'Gather Us In' number four-oh-four.” 

The sound of two hundred and sixty people standing didn't deaden the sound of the opening strains of music. On the left side of the church, halfway back, Nate Turabian took a deep breath and looked up – and the first notes of the song promptly got caught in his throat. Three pews up on the other side there was something he was certain he'd never seen before. 

The man was tall with black hair and a red-headed girl who was shorter than he was. That wasn't what made him start. It was the other person in the pew with them – or should he say, the other being with them. Standing next to the trench coated man was a nearly nine foot tall winged creature – _is that... what I think it is?_ Nate turned away from the vision across the isle and resumed singing. It was pretty obvious no one else was aware of the fact that there was – _an angel_ – standing in the middle of their church. 

*

Dean had decided to call it a night in a small town in South Carolina rather than driving straight through the night to Raleigh. The city was just four hours away from where they were, but after driving twelve hours – and being in a car for sixteen, he'd rather get to their final destination rested than half exhausted. He also wasn't about to let Melpomene drive the Impala. He figured that if she could just transport herself all over the planet, odds were, she didn't know much about driving and he didn't feel like asking. 

The motel was mostly empty, it being Sunday night. Dean set his two bags down on one of the beds while Melpomene merely took her coat and shoes off and sat down on the other. “You're not going to go taking off in the middle of the night, are you?”

“No.” She yawned. “I think I'm a little to tired to go anywhere. I only sleep about once or twice a week.”

“Really?” He set a large bladed knife under his pillow. “Is that all you need?”

“Usually.” She stretched her arms over her head. “If it's been a busy week, I might sleep two whole days straight... right now I just need a few hours.”

“Yeah.” Dean took a tin of salt from his bag and put a line down by the door and the window and then went to put one in the bathroom. “This stuff doesn't affect you, does it?”

“No.” She fell back on the bed, covering her eyes with one of her arms. 

“Does anything affect you?” He asked as he put the container back into his bag and got out his tooth brush. 

“Yes, but I'd say it's highly unlikely you have it in the trunk of that car. I'd say there's a better chance that you'd find a hundred and twenty-five million dollar winning power-ball ticket in that car than a weapon that will actually harm me.”

“So you're almost invulnerable.”

“Yes. No, that does not extend to any of mine and my sister's children – except for an immunity to the Croatoan virus and a bunch of other illnesses.”

Dean stared at her. “Well, that's some good. I don't suppose you can tell me why Heather can see Cas in both forms, can you?” 

She lowered her arm and kept her gaze on the ceiling. “That, Dean Winchester, is a very long and very complicated story. One that I am forbidden to discuss.” 

“Forbidden by who?”

“Several people, firstly, by my father – and I am not even allowed to say who else there is and who handed down the curse.”

“It's a curse?”

“In a manner of speaking...” She rubbed her face. “It's not something I care to talk about. It's also something that affects only three of the Muses, including me.”

Dean decided not to press the matter and went to brush his teeth. When he came back, Penny was already under the covers of her bed, the blankets pulled over her head. He tried not to notice the clothes folded at the foot of that bed as he went and checked the locks on the door one last time before turning out the light, undressing and getting into his own bed. By this time tomorrow, the Colt would be back in his possession and the two of them would be on the road back to South Dakota. She'd travel with him as far as the outskirts of Sioux Falls. He didn't want to think about the fact that it'd take a day and a half to get there. He sighed. “You awake?”

“No.” Melpomene grumbled from under her covers. “If you want to stay up and talk, I won't object, but I think rest is something you're in dire need of.”

“That's freaky.” He replied under his breath and closed his eyes. Sleep came blessedly quick and as he drifted off, he hoped it would last more than four hours. It was six hours later, at three in the morning, when a sound he couldn't place woke him up. He rolled over towards the other bed, wondering what the hell is brother was up to when he remembered – Sam was in South Dakota. Across the room, Melpomene was sitting up, watching the television and doing her best to keep her laughter restrained and, in his opinion, failing badly. He glanced across to the set. Some movie or something was on the screen, that looked as if it had been shot on location on a stage. “What the hell are you watching?”

 _“The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Abridged-”_ She said between chuckles. “the Reduced Shakespeare Company is brilliant...” She blew her nose. “I'm sorry if I woke you up... I can turn this off...”

“No... it's okay.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I usually get up at this time of the night.” He frowned. “My extent to this Shakespeare stuff extends to watching that really old version of Romeo and Juliet one week in high school.”

“That work has to be one of the most if not the most misunderstood stories in the world.” She rubbed her nose with the handkerchief. “This just started...” She grinned. “I think I was at this performance.”

Dean frowned. “Is that guy wearing a skirt?”

“Yes...” She snickered. “I wish I could get Quentin Tarantino into Shakespeare... that man could make a damn fine _Macbeth_.”

“Lot of killing in that one?” He snorted. “There has to be plenty of bloodshed for a Tarantino film...”

“Oh, there's plenty of killing... stabbing, poisoning... sword fights, the whole nine yards.” 

**

Sam did a quick perusal of the kitchen on Monday morning and started making a shopping list. He knew that Dean wouldn't be back with the Colt until Thursday – at the earliest. He'd not given much thought of what he'd do these few days, other than do laundry and help out if Bobby needed it. Since he'd learned the old hunter had teaching Heather a few things, there probably wasn't any harm in him doing the same. It wasn't like he _wanted_ the girl to become a hunter like him and Dean, but knowing how to at least defend yourself was a good idea. Given how trouble and danger seemed to find the Winchesters, no matter how they tried to avoid it – there was no way of getting around it.

“Morning.” Heather said blearily as she came into the kitchen. 

“Hey.” He handed her a mug. “You don't like this stuff yet, do you?” He indicated the coffee pot. 

“I don't drink that much of it.” She went over to the fridge and filled the mug half-full of milk. “I miss juice.” 

“Well, it looks like we need to go to the store today so we'll pick some up.” He leaned against the counter. “That work?”

“Sure.” She added coffee to her mug, but not much. “Uh, you want me to go dig out Uncle Bobby's truck?”

“Not right now.” Sam shook his head. “What'd you do last week?”

“Learned how to clean a shotgun.” She shrugged. “Figured out I'm going to have to learn Latin if I want to read half of the books in this house.”

“Latin's pretty easy to pick up once you start.” He spoke from experience.

“I don't know all that much...I do know the last people to use Latin as their official language was the Hungarian Aristocracy.” She slunk into a chair at the table. “I learned that in social studies this past semester.” She looked up. “Uh... speaking of... do I ever get to go back to school or am I headed for a really bizarre form of home-schooling?”

Sam sat down across from her and chuckled. “I imagine we can probably get you into school in January – wait for the second semester to start.”

“I guess that works.” She took a sip from her mug. “Probably be easiest.”

“You like school?” 

“For the most part.” She managed a small smile. 

“Favorite subject?”

“Lunch. It's the only one they don't grade you in.” The smile grew more genuine. “But of the things they _do_ grade you on... I'd say English is my favorite...or Art.”

“I liked English too.” Sam was relieved he'd found a subject he could talk to her about – he seriously doubted Dean would have this conversation with her. “You like to read?”

“Love to read.” She took another sip of her drink. “Though it'd be really hard for me to pick a favorite book.”

“Have you read _Harry Potter?_ ” 

“I'm thirteen years old, what do you think?” She grinned. “But I enjoyed _Pendragon_ more – mainly because the villain in that series makes Voldemort look like a wuss.”

“That bad, huh?” He took a sip from his own mug.

“Voldemort has no hair because he's old. Saint Dane has no hair because Bobby Pendragon set him on fire.”

Sam gagged and grabbed a napkin from the pile on the table. He hacked once before responding. “The guy lived?”

“Oh yeah... he also survived being impaled with a sword.” She frowned. “There aren't any demons that can survive that, right?”

“I'm... not entirely sure, but most of them do burn to a crisp when set on fire.” He cleaned up the spilled coffee. “Is that what Saint Dane is? A demon?”

“Kind of...” She bit her lip, thinking. “It's sort of hard to explain without ruining the series.” 

Sam thought for a moment. “You mind if I ask you one of the most standard questions all adults ask kids?”

“That being?” She raised an eyebrow in response.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” He said with a laugh.

Heather grinned. “Not been asked that in a while...” Her smile remained. “I'd like to either illustrate books or be an art teacher.”

He smiled over his coffee mug. “So you want to go to college then?”

“Are you joking? Of course I do! Did you go?”

“For a few years...I went to Stanford... didn't finish though.” His smile faltered. “Some things came up.”

“You ever think of going back?”

“I... no.” He shook his head. “I can't go back to a.. I guess what you'd call a normal life.” He pushed his mug away. “Tell you what... why don't you go start to dig out the truck...” He wanted to avoid this subject for a while. “Maybe we can get the shopping done before noon.”

“Sure.” She stood and went to retrieve the coat and galoshes she'd worn yesterday. Getting out of the house sounded good – getting _away_ from it sounded even better. Even if it was just going into town. When she came back into the kitchen, he gave her an odd look. “What's wrong?”

“I think that coat used to be mine.” He chuckled. “A long time ago.”

“Well, I knew it was a boy's coat when I first put it on.” She shrugged. “But if I find any loose change in the pockets, I'll give it back to you.”

In response, Sam laughed.

***

The early December morning was cool and sunny in North Carolina. Dean had managed to get back to sleep shortly after three – and was grateful for the three more hours of sleep he had gotten. He was used to functioning on three or four hours of sleep – and the odd nights when he actually got six was a rare and welcome treat. He glanced over at Melpomene, who was clicking away in her phone again. “What exactly are you doing anyway?”

“Research.” She shook her head. “The way things are going, it won't be long before Heaven and Hell start coming to the pagan gods to see if they can whip up some support.”

“Why would they do that?” Dean frowned. “I mean, there can't be that many of you left... and no offense or anything, are any of you all that powerful?”

“The ones to worry about are all the Hindu gods... all Buddha asks one to do is sit down and have a cup of tea and talk about enlightenment.”

“You know all these gods?”

“Most of them...Eastern Civilization gods and Western Civilization gods aren't exactly known to be on good terms with each other. It's sort of like a popularity contest on a nearly biblical scale.” She leaned back in the seat. “Since the Hindu gods still have a large amount of followers, they've maintained most of their power. I also know what power they have they aren't going to want to give up – so they will play neutrality until a temple or two gets ruined and then they'll try to fight both sides. They've also been pretty livid over the whole situation in Tibet for years, so what you have there is a powder keg.”

He drained the last of the coffee from the thick cardboard cup and shook his head. “This is just plain... have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“Well, this is the Apocalypse, Dean... there's only one of those.” She frowned. “Though if the angels are under the impression that humanity is currently at it's worst, they've clearly forgotten a lot of the past.” She shuddered. “I think what the issue is is that now there's six point five billion humans on this earth....so it seems worse than other times.” 

“What was worse?” Dean shifted into the passing lane and they raced past a slow pick-up truck. 

“You really don't want to know... when there were just around twenty million people running around on this planet, five hundred thousand of them seemed to be determined to make it a living hell. I've seen men eat the hearts of their fallen adversaries, thinking it'd give them the slain one's power. They also used to impale one another, crucify people and I've seen Spartans that make the Nazis look like boy scouts.”

“That's sick.” He replied, glancing at a sign that said Raleigh was fifty miles away. “So this Crowley... are we just going to knock on his door and he'll give us the Colt?”

“Depends on what kind of day he's having...we may have to knock aggressively.” She turned her device off and stuck it in her pocket. “But if he likes the deal he's got, he probably won't put up much of a fight.”

“So he's a crossroads demon, then?”

“Yes. He was pretty much Lilith's most industrious lackey... and like most people who love power, he was looking for any edge he could get. Since that Bela Talbot woman gave him the Colt and not Lilith he basically got one of the biggest bargaining chips there is. It was probably straight self preservation that kept him from killing her.”

“So she wasn't exactly anyone's favorite demon, I take it?”

“I suppose Lucifer liked her well enough... but I have a feeling he used her as a means to an end. Angels and demons aren't friends... until he got out of his prison, the majority of demons didn't even believe the devil existed... he was their greatest myth, as it where.”

“But some myths are real.” He shot a look at her. “Right?”

“A lot of them are... but so many stories get embellished as time goes by.” She unconsciously bit her lip. “Some of them get down right bastardized...

Dean frowned. “I can probably think of a few of them.”

“Probably more than a few. Can you believe I've seen over ten thousand versions of _Hamlet_?”

“Very easily. I think I may have seen one...or part of it in some English class in high school.” He swung the Impala into the passing lane and raced past a delivery truck. “Unless you count _The Lion King_.”

“It sort of counts...the musical is a bit closer than the movie.” She cleared her throat. “However, they made that modern version with Ethan Hawke... and for all the negative reviews, I actually liked it.”

“Why was that?”

“Because the director got Hamlet's age right. Mel Gibson and Kenneth Branagh are brilliant actors – but the Prince of Denmark is not a man headed into middle age – he's actually around nineteen or twenty.”

“Seriously?” He was starting to wish Sam had come with them – he might actually be able to help him follow the conversation. 

“Well, think about it...” She rubbed her nose. “If he was thirty something, when he got home, wouldn't it have made more sense to tell his Uncle Claudius to get the hell out of his chair? I mean, if he was nineteen, then the events that occur in the play make sense.” 

He shrugged in response as he steered the car back into the left lane. “The girl in that story is Ophelia, right?” 

“Ah, Hamlet and Ophelia...” She took a breath before continuing. “A thousand times more tragic than Romeo and Juliet will ever be. Unlike the lovers in Verona, the couple in Elsinore castle actually cared about one another. All Romeo wanted to do was to shag Juliet.”

“Wasn't Juliet supposed to be around thirteen years old?” He grimaced. “Now that...that is pretty sick.”

“Well, Romeo was supposed to be around sixteen and the life expectancy of the story's time frame was around forty.” She chuckled. “Ah, William Shakespeare – quite the lucky individual. My sister Thalia tapped him on the shoulder and he wrote sixteen plays that were all very similar. My sister Clio gave him a pat on the back and he wrote a bundle of histories that were all pretty good. I smacked the man upside the head...and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“What that a literal smack or a figurative one?” Dean asked more to be obnoxious than serious.

“Literal... the man had horrible breath.” She snorted. “That's actually another reason I have so few children...there was a very, very, very long period when bathing regularly was not practiced...it was really nice when people started taking baths once a week, as opposed to once a year.”

He grimaced in response. “Must be why the angels think we smell.”

“Most angels think anyone who isn't one of them smells.” She rolled her eyes. “And it's not just the stench that causes most of them to hate beings like me.” 

“Cas doesn't seem to have a problem with you.”

“I'm not going to answer that. The reason a lot of angels don't particularly care for me and my sisters is because we somehow tend to get lumped in as _being_ angels ourselves. Needless to say, they don't really like that idea... then again, I hate being thought of as a demon.”

“I can see your point.” He slowed down as they started to come into the suburban area around Raleigh. “Does Crowley live out here or in the city proper?” 

“He lives on the north side of the city – if you get on the five-forty loop west we can avoid the majority of the city itself.”

“Sounds good.” He checked his watch. “We've made good time.”

“That's because you insisted on leaving at the ungodly hour of five-thirty.”

**

Heather often wondered where certain ideas came from – right now she was wondering what idiot thought that muzak was an acceptable form of music – particularly Christmas music turned into muzak. Of course, that was better than the days she'd gone to the store with her mom and some sports game was being blared at twice the needed volume over the speakers. She leaned against the cart as Sam turned the corner of the basket down another isle. “I know Christmas is a big holiday, but do they have to shove it down our throats?” She glared at the Coca-Cola bottles covered with pictures of Santa Claus. “By the time the actual day gets here, we want to to be _over_.” 

Sam shook his head. “You're asking the wrong person... I mean, what'd you have for Christmas dinner last year?”

“I've always had homemade meatballs and spaghetti for Christmas dinner.” She shrugged. “We had it so rarely, it was always a treat.”

“I would have thought you'd have ham.”

“Mom can't... couldn't have ham. It made her sick.” She straightened up as he put a large bag of pretzels into the basket and then pulled it down to the corner and they turned into the bread isle. “What do you and Dean do for Christmas?”

“Have a dinner furnished by Boston Market and drink a carton of Egg Nog.” He said flatly. “I don't... we never really had a traditional Christmas... ever.”

“That's awful.” Heather was shocked and it sounded in her voice. “I mean, doesn't Uncle Bobby celebrate the holiday?”

“He does – usually in the same way my brother and I do.” He set two bags of sandwich bread into the basket. “So don't expect much holiday cheer.”

“Sheesh, is everyone in this family a grouch?” She didn't mean to be rude, but she was starting to get frustrated at everyone's sullen behavior. 

“No, we're realists.” He shook his head. “I'm amazed you can remain so optimistic after all that's happened in the past two weeks.”

“I was probably on the receiving end of a boatload of recessive genes that keep me from being a pessimist.” She snorted. “It's either I believe things can become better or I can pull the spoiled brat routine.”

Sam stared at her. “You're just a kid, Heather.”

She let out a sarcastic gasp. “You noticed!” 

He wasn't sure if he should laugh or yell at her. “What I mean is...” He shook his head. “Is this how you usually are and the quiet routine was all an act?”

“I'm not sure...” She shrugged. “I mean, I'd like to be happy but if I do feel happy, I feel bad for feeling that way.”

He pulled the cart up the isle and she followed him. “I've not spent a lot of time with optimists... so I find their outlook to be frustrating.” He looked back at her. “So don't take anything personally.”

“Oh, that won't be a problem.” She helped him turn the cart and head down the long isle in the back of the market. “I was blessed with a very long fuse... you know what I mean?”

Sam nodded, not looking back at her. “I know _exactly_ what you mean.” He scanned the date on a roll of sausage meat before adding it to the cart. “What kind of juice did you want to get it?”

“I'll drink pretty much anything – as long as there's no pomegranate in it.”

“Don't like that particular fruit?” He said, steering the cart down the isle that held the cereal and other breakfast foods.

“Nope, I'm allergic.”

“Allergic to pomegranate?” He turned around. “That's different. Cranberry's okay though, right?”

“Cranberry is great.” She said in response. “One of these days I'm going to figure out how to make cranberry pie... of course, I probably need to figure out how to make pie crust first.”

“You like pie?” He had a feeling about where this conversation was going.

“I love pie...and rice krispe treats.” She responded as Sam added a bottle of cranberry-grape juice to the cart. “One is the best dessert ever and the other is the greatest cookie that doesn't contain chocolate.”

**

Nate Turabian stared blankly at the blackboard as his math teacher started to go over the questions that had been missed the most on last Friday's test. He glanced down at the perfect score on his own paper and then rested his chin on his hand, studying the problems. He knew he had to give the semblance of paying attention as if he hadn't gotten the one hundred percent. Personally, he'd rather die than admit to being Nate the Nerd. He'd rather be Nathan Turabian – the all star goalie, the future hope of the Roosevelt High Rough Riders state championship in soccer. 

He winced at the thought. Even in his imagination it sounded arrogant. He was only thirteen and still had another year of middle school to go through. What he really, really wanted however, was to be back at his old school – back with his class at Holy Spirit. Patrick Henry had been his school for the past two years – and most days he still wanted back in his old school. Hell, he even missed the uniforms. He'd lied to his friends about what his parents had said about focusing on academics. His parents had taken him out of their parish's grade school when they realized that the local Catholic high school was going to be beyond their means if they still wanted their son to go to college. At least, without the benefit of scholarships. 

So here he was, racing at the front of the academic pack and trying not to appear to. He dreaded to think what high school would be like with honors classes and the inevitable AP classes. His mom had read some book about children who are forced into becoming overachievers and suddenly seemed to _plan_ things out so it wouldn't be quite so rough. Thus the reason for just one sport rather than the three he was perfectly capable of playing and maintaining his grades. Nate knew it was important, but honestly, at thirteen, it was hard to give a crap.

“Mr. Turabian, could you please join us?” The teacher's voice cut through his thoughts.

“What?” He smiled sheepishly. “Uh... sorry.”

The rest of the class laughed as the teacher shook his head and went on to explain the question that had stumped the most people in the class – number eleven. He glanced down at his own paper. He didn't care if the others laughed at him. He stood up a little straighter and followed along, but something else edged in the corner of his mind. 

The girl and her companion at church two days ago – it was so odd, so unthinkable. There'd been an angel in the building and only he had seen it. No one else... except, perhaps – the girl herself could see it too. Since he'd never seen the girl here at Patrick Henry or at Holy Spirit, maybe she was just passing through town. Of course – that made sense. Maybe he hadn't been the only one who'd seen them. Well, if there was some kind of Christmas miracle thing going on, the pair had probably stopped in Sioux Falls to look for someone in need of their help. But what could a girl his age and an angel do in South Dakota? His mind was about to take off in a million possibilities when the voice of his grandmother resounded in his head bringing him back down to reality.

_Nathan Edward Turabian, I swear child, you have five times the imagination of anyone else – sometimes I wonder how you keep your feet on the ground!_

He'd never let his imagination completely runaway with him – at least, not out of the confines of his own head. While he never would admit it, there were times when he had to sit and wonder which of his biological parents he'd picked the trait up from. But thinking about those two people were a forbidden subject to him as well. Well, maybe not so much forbidden as it was – uncomfortable. He didn't want to think about them – not out of disloyalty to his mom and dad, or out or resentment for being put up for adoption. Nathan suspected that not knowing the truth and making up his own story as to why he was a Turabian and not... whoever was better than what really happened. For all he knew, his dad could be in prison and his mom could be some crack-head.

The lie, he told himself, was better than that.


	8. Separate Storms

Heather ran the piece of chalk along the side of Uncle Bobby's house, matching the pattern on the drawing he'd given her. She knew that after these were in place, no angel would be able to get into the house itself – the man didn't want any unwanted visitors – and that had included Castiel. She knew that the man was angry that the angel wasn't able to restore his ability to walk with both legs again. Of course, it also meant angels that they _really_ didn't want into the place showing up either. She finished the first marking and moved three paces over and started on the second one. The snow beneath her was so hard packed she barely sank more than an inch into the drift that had to be at least three feet high. She rubbed her nose and made another streaking motion with the chalk as she heard a car pull up near the house. Her hand stilled until she heard the door open and Sam come onto the porch. 

“Ellen, Jo, you're back!”

“Hey Sam.” An older woman's voice answered him. “Where's Dean?”

“He went to get the Colt... it's a long story.”

“It's freezing out here...” Another woman's voice said, she sounded to be the same age as Sam.   
Heather went back to working on the Enochian symbols she was drawing. She guessed the two women where the Harvelles, who'd been in New Orleans until recently. She checked the design again before adding another marking. 

“That's pretty good.” A woman stood a few feet away from her, hands in her pockets. “You ever done that before?”

“No, ma'am.” She assumed the lady was Ellen, as she looked to be roughly the same age her mom had been. 

“Bobby's got you working already.” She scanned the first marking and the half-finished second one. “So these are going to keep the angels out.”

“That's what Uncle Bobby says.” She turned back to her work. “They said you were in New Orleans.”

“Yeah.” She gave Heather a smile. “You ever been there?”

“Once, when I was seven.” She made one last adjustment to the markings and took three more paces to start the final symbol on this side of the house. Sam would come out after her and three more, several feet above hers. “I liked the food and the zoo.”

She nodded. “The food down there is pretty good.” Ellen took a few steps closer to her. “Damn, Bobby was right – you do look like Dean... except for the eyes and the hair...” She chuckled. “Let me guess... you hate being called ginger.”

Heather nodded in response. “Uh, you're Mrs. Harvelle, right?”

“You can call me Ellen.” She hunched over in her coat. “Jo's inside, she's been driving since Kansas City and she's pretty tired.” 

“You must have been driving all night. We thought you weren't coming until later in the week.”

“Well, things didn't take as long as we thought they would.” She came over to stand next to Heather as she worked. “I'm sorry about your parents, Heather.”

“Thanks.” She looked over her shoulder. “I'm... doing okay with it...I think.”

Ellen watched her finish making the symbol. “You are or you think?”

“It's complicated.” She took a step back from the row she'd made. “That's all of them.” She tucked the paper and chalk into her coat pocket.

“Let's get inside – it's cold out here.” She put her hand on the girl's shoulder and led her inside the warm house.

**

Dean checked over the trunk of the Impala one last time before adding a second flask of holy water to one of the inner pockets of his coat before shutting the secret compartment and locking it. “Why does this seem far to easy?”

“Don't say that until you've got the Colt back.” Melpomene kept her hands in her coat pockets as they started down the street from where they'd parked the car, in a local carpooling lot. The good news was, it didn't look out of place amid the expensive luxury sedans and sport utility vehicles – they even passed another Impala, although it was the unforgivable color of candy apple red. “There's always one person in these groups who has a car that's least likely to get stolen... that's the car they drive downtown. Everyone else just chips in the gas money.”

“Crazy.” He muttered as they turned onto a side street that was lined with tall oak trees. He glanced at one of the houses as they passed it. “Does Scarlet O'Hara live in this neighborhood?”

She chuckled in response. “I still don't know what people do with all that extra room...if you had six kids or something...” She shook her head. 

“What, no big house for you?”

“No, I don't really have a house... more like a very comfortable apartment that I don't get to stay in all that often.”

“Where's that, Mount Olympus?” He said, grinning.

“Of course.” She dodged an overgrown crepe myrtle bush. “Haven't been there in weeks.” She slowed as they came to a cul-de-sac and nodded towards a large stone wall that encircled a house whose Spanish tile roof could just be seen over it. “I don't think I've seen that many Enochian symbols in one place in a long time...”

“What?”

“That wall is covered with them.” She shrugged. “This almost makes me wonder what else he's hiding in there.” She straightened up. “Here goes nothing.”

Dean followed her as she went up the metal gate. “Iron? Seriously? This demon's got an iron gate?”

“Chain link doesn't fly well in this neighborhood. These things also open with garage door openers.” She looked up at the camera that was following them. “No, we're not paranoid.” She said under her breath as she pushed the call button.

“Yes?” A raspy sounding voice answered. 

“Hello, Crowley...” A slow smile spread across her face. “Guess who.”

There was a buzzing noise and the gates swung open. 

“We just walk in here?” Dean was incredulous as how easy this was going.

“When things are going well, don't knock it.” She picked up her pace and he followed. “Besides, it's sunny out. Strange how demons hate sunshine... you'd think for all the time they spend locked up in hell, they'd relish every minute they could get of it.”

“Maybe they don't like the heat.”

“I don't think that's the case. If that was true, places like Siberia would be crawling with them.” 

**

Castiel had officially become worried about Polyhymnia. She'd not responded to any calls nor could he track where she was. He stood in a corner of the Vienna Opera House, listening to a choir perform the wonder that was Handel's _Messiah_. He was at the very first performance of the piece – it had been one of the single largest gathering of angels on earth in a long time. Time meant nothing to him, but he could remember the performance clearly. Half his garrison had been there with him – Zachariah, Uriel... Anna... he let out a soft breath and opened his eyes as he heard someone walking towards him. He tilted his head to one side, confused. “Clio?” 

“I'd wondered if you'd remember me Castiel.” The Muse of History smiled. “It's been...” She shrugged. “A while.”

Castiel nodded faintly. Clio had been the first muse he had ever met – thousands of years ago shortly before the plagues fell upon the people of Egypt. She was also the first pagan god he'd encountered. She was much older than he was in terms of time, although she appeared to be no older than Sam Winchester, even now. Her hair was the color of wheat and bore little resemblance to her full blood sisters and a stronger resemblance to her half sister, Athena. It had to be the gray eyes more than anything. “A very long while.”

She stepped closer to him. “Polly sent me. This is the most insane month of the year for her – and for Cori as well. Since they need Penny to keep track of the days for them, I was the next best candidate.”

“Candidate?” He frowned. “I do not need... a candidate.”

“You do realize that between the two of them, Polly and Cori go through every December around twenty times.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I'm not busy as of late...all the documentary workers have gone home to their families, more or less...and all people really start to care about in forms of entertainment right now is American Football. All I've got now are a bunch of desperate students who didn't have the common sense to start their term papers right after Halloween.”

He stood and narrowed his eyes at her. “I do not want your help, Clio.” 

The Muse straightened her shoulders, drawing herself up to her full height, which was still several inches shorter than him. “It's not like I'm going to be following you around or anything.”

“I do not...find that amusing.” He frowned.

Her mouth fell open slightly. “Kronos, Kali and Kokopelli killing kangaroos, is Gabriel the only one of you little sunbeams with a sense of humor?” She adjusted the collar of her coat, the gold pin on lapel flashing in the false light above them. “I may have to find you a copy of _Humor for Dummies_ for Saturnalia.”

Castiel shook his head. “I do not want your help nor do I celebrate that pagan holiday.”

“Well, no one asked me if I wanted a baby brother but daddy said we couldn't get rid of Ares.” A grin spread across her face that slowly faded as the angel glared at her. “Look, I know you're not to happy about this arrangement – but Polly did ask me to do this.”

He took a step closer, looking her over. “For how long?”

“She should be readjusted and back to her sunny self in the middle of February. She sleeps the last two weeks of January every year.” She sighed and stuck her hands in her pockets. “Look, it's just if you happen to want or need help... I'm doing this as a favor to my little sister, which I don't get to do very often.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and then turned from her. “It appears I do not have a choice.”

“Hey, maybe everything will be nice and calm and you won't need my help.” She shrugged. 

“You've changed, Clio.” He tilted his head to the side, frowning. “What is it?”

“Castiel, I've not seen you since Columbus left on his first voyage. A lot can happen in five hundred and seventeen years.”

**

Dean was uneasy over the whole getting the Colt back affair. It had been far to simple – despite what Crowley had told them. The demon wanted Lucifer dead, thus the reason he'd just given the gun back, no demands or requests other than to kill the bastard dead. They'd walked in there, rang the bell, were shown into an office by a maid and the weapon that could kill anything had been given back to them. The demon had stated that as soon as Lucifer was done killing humanity, he'd wipe out all the demons. Since he wanted to live and humans were pretty much a demon's food source, he had two very good reasons for being so polite. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as he drove the Impala over the West Virginia state line. “That was too easy.”

“Of course it was to easy.” Melpomene said flatly. “Crowley knows that the Colt won't work on Lucifer.” 

He shot her a look. “The Colt will kill anything.”

“No, it kills almost anything. You do not have to be a genius to figure it out. If Lilith had the Colt last year and it could kill angels, don't you think she'd have shot several hundred of them?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe she didn't know Crowley had it.”

“Crowley's end game is to stay on top and stay alive.” She shook he head. “Of course he told Lilith he had the gun. He knew she had to die to start the Apocalypse. She could have taken the Colt and killed a few angels for shits and grins before getting diced herself.” 

“Be serious.” He snapped in reply.

“I am. Dean, I can't even kill an angel. I can probably hurt one really badly but get pretty thrashed myself in the process. Well, okay, I _might_ be able to kill an angel...but definitely not an archangel.”

“Can the Colt kill you?” 

“No.” She closed her eyes. “If you don't want to believe me, that's fine. I'm just trying to keep you from making some stupid mistake and getting you or some innocent person killed.”

Dean glanced at her. “How old are you anyway?”

“Really old.... I'm older than Castiel. _Way, way, way_ older than he is.”

“You don't know how old you are?”

“Let's put it this way... You ever been to the Grand Canyon?”

“Yeah...” He checked the gas gauge as they passed a mile marker and saw the Impala was well above empty. 

“When I was born, it was around two hundred feet deep.” She opened her eyes. “When Castiel was born, or whatever you want to call it, the canyon was around a four hundred feet deep. And yes, I saw that big ass rock that slammed into the earth and killed the dinosaurs. It wasn't five miles wide... it was about the size of Rhode Island.”

He let out a low whistle. “Damn... what did you do before there were humans? I mean, were all the pagan gods around then?”

“Some were.” She shrugged. “Most of them came into being as humanity grew. Some of the pantheons got wiped out thousands of years ago.” She rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Right after the Exodus of the Hebrews, the Egyptian pantheon was more or less slaughtered. Some of them did, however, get adopted into other groups...sometimes all that happens is a name change.”

“Greeks and Romans?”

“Exact same pantheon – just a handful of different names. Ares loved the Romans... he finally got a decent amount of respect.” She stretched her arms over her head. “You don't really intend the drive the entire twenty two hours straight to Sioux Falls, do you?”

“Not all at once.” He shook his head. “I just want to get some distance from North Carolina...to Ohio, at least.” He looked at his watch and winced. “I don't suppose you know how to drive, do you?”

“I have a problem when I drive.”

“What's that?”

“Speed limits.”

Dean snorted and then laughed. “What, seventy to slow?”

“Most of the time, yes.” She shrugged. “Besides, something tells me you don't want me driving your car.”

“Point.” He gave her a sideways glance again. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I suppose.” She shifted in her seat. 

“You said yesterday you had a total of four kids... what happened to the other three?”

Melpomene winced. She usually not tried to think about her children, as did most of her sisters. The subject was always a painful one. “Well, none of them are still alive... only one of them died of old age. The other two...” Her voice cracked. “Died before they were twenty-one.”

“I'm sorry.” He glanced at her and saw the raw pain on her face. He knew better than to ask how they'd died. “If you don't want to talk about it...”

“No, no it's okay...” She managed a small smile. “You might need the information...” She took a deep breath. “William died in seventeen seventy-seven...I fed his murderer to a wendigo.”

“Human justice not working at the time?” He knew it sounded callous as soon as he said it.

“It was the American Revolution... and I wasn't thinking to clearly at the time. I got into a lot of trouble for that... and even now, I say it was worth it.” She took a deep breath. “Jeremiah was born in eighteen forty-seven...” She smiled. “Talk about seeing history...he was there the day Lee surrendered at Appomattox and lived to see the day Japan surrendered in World War Two.” Her smile became more pronounced. “He almost lived to be a hundred. He's buried in Arlington.” 

“That... is a really long time to live.” 

“Not many have done it...” She took a deep breath. “Timothy died on the USS Arizona.” She shook her head. “I refused to walk into Japan for a decade after that.”

Dean nodded slightly. “I'd say that makes sense.”

“For some reason, every person I take interest in Japan comes up with all these apocalyptic things... from _Godzilla_ to _Neon Genesis Evangelion._..” She sighed. “Although _X_ and _Angel Sanctuary_ were pretty good...”

“Not heard of most of those...” He chuckled. “Godzilla? Seriously?”

“Plot's bad, the acting is horrible and the special effects are ghastly... so bad they're funny.”

“Thought you were the Muse of Tragedy.”

“Like I said yesterday – I somehow picked up drama and horror along the way.”

“ _Star Wars_?”

“That would be Annie, better known as Urania, actually. ” She shook her head. “She stole George Lucas from Thalia... so I imagine Clio does nothing but break up fights between those two. The Twentieth Century was very nice to the Muse of Astronomy – and not just because mankind landed on the moon.” She laughed. “As for Tragedy... sometimes in being serious you end up being hysterical. I was at the premiere of _Manos_ , for Kronos's sake... which I had nothing to do with. It was quite possibly the funniest thing I saw in the past century.”

“Isn't that touted as the worst movie ever made?”

“Obviously, you've never gone trolling on YouTube.”

“What's that, a porn site?”

In response, Melpomene laughed.

**

The kitchen table had actually seemed crowded with the presence of three more people. With the wards and seals on the house firmly in place, keeping out just about every single kind of unwanted visitors, Bobby actually seemed pleasant for the first time since Heather had known him. She was glad there were other people to carry a conversation rather than her having that responsibility. Ellen had said that she and Jo weren't staying very long – they'd be setting out for Maine in the morning. They had just wanted to come and touch base before heading east. They didn't know when they'd be back after that. 

Heather would have been happy to spend the entire meal saying nothing if it hadn't been for Jo's determination to talk to her. She found it kind of unsettling to a degree, since neither Sam, Dean or Uncle Bobby had wanted to play twenty questions with her. 

It also didn't help that it only made her feel more of an outsider with all the things that Sam and Jo had been brought up knowing and she was just starting to learn. Bobby had told her not to feel bad about that, he'd only spent the last thirty odd years learning all he could about the supernatural. She, at least, had a good head start ahead of him. While she might not know a lot about the world unseen, she'd seen a few places that none of the other four had. After dinner, she brought her laptop down into the kitchen and plugged it in so she could show Sam and Jo the pictures she had taken two years ago, when she'd been to Europe.

“So where all did you go when you went?” Sam asked.

“Uh... England, Germany, Denmark, Poland and Russia.” She chuckled. “It was funny in Berlin – it marked the first time I was ever asked if I wanted a beer.”

“Did you have one?”

“Well, there wasn't any alcohol in it... so it wasn't a real beer.” She opened the folder of photographs and got up from her chair so that Sam could use the keypad to navigate through it. “They're in there by country and then by location.”

“Little OCD, huh?” Jo said, jokingly.

Heather grinned. “I was born on the cusp of Virgo and Libra...I'm condemned to be a perfectionist who changes her mind every thirty minutes.”

Sam laughed. “That would explain why you keep looking for things to clean.”

“I'm not that much of a neat freak...”

“Why don't I believe that?” Jo said.

“Okay, so I like things clean... what's wrong with that?”

“Nothing.” Sam said, turning back to the monitor. “You went to Stonehenge?”

“Yeah. It was pretty cool.” She sat down in the chair opposite of them. Sam noticed when she bit the corner of her lip and glanced away for the briefest of moments. “A lot of the things we saw were like that.” She swallowed. “I liked Russia the best.” 

“Why is that?”

“It had the best art galleries... we went to St. Petersburg and saw the Winter Palace.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I hate to sound like a geek about it and all...”

“No, no...” Jo grinned. “It's fine – of course, I'm not much for artwork.”

“Oh, it wasn't all artwork, there were historical artifacts too...The Hermitage was incredible... they've got artwork from the Stone Age.” She leaned on the table. “The Arsenal was just...I mean, they had weapons from the Punic Wars...” She went pink as she trailed off and hid her face in her hands. “Oh sheesh, I do sound like a geek...”

Sam clicked through a few images. “So where'd you go in Poland?”

“We were just there a day...” She sat up straighter, lowering her hands to rest in her lap. “There was just one thing we saw there...”

“What's that?” Jo said, noticing that the joy had faded from the girl's face.

“Auschwitz.” She looked down at the floor, biting her lip again. “I...it...was the middle of July... and the temperature was well above eighty.... but it was cold there.”

“Damn.” Sam said softly. “That must have been...” He frowned. “Damn.” He said again. 

“I'm...going to go to bed. It's been a long day.” She stood up. “Good night.”

“Night Heather.” Jo said as she left the room. “Poor kid.”

“Yeah... but I think she's doing pretty well, all things considered.”

*

Jo went to bed shortly after Heather did, stating she and her mom had a long drive ahead of them tomorrow and she needed the rest. Sam, however, flipped through the entire collection of photos in the trip folder, feeling half intrigued and half envious. He'd never left the area of the country known as the 'lower forty-eight' in his life. There were so many placed he wanted to see and yet at the same time he had just wanted a place to call home. He sighed as he shut the last of the of the images and surfed back through the image folder. The laptop was a newer version than his, using Windows 7 whereas his was still on XP. 

He glanced into the other room and saw that the door of Heather's room was shut and then he started filing through the rest of the folders on the computer. The music folder was full of a wide variety of artists, half of them he'd never heard of and at least a fourth he was surprised Heather had. What a kid was doing with Johnny Cash and Jefferson Airplane on their computer, he had no idea. He didn't expect to find much in the document folder, other than school papers. There was however a folder in with the school papers marked 'artwork.' 

“Wonder why this isn't in her picture folder...” He clicked on the icon and inside, just like the photograph album, there were more folders, each one labeled with a year. Since they went four years back, he guess that Heather must have had fun with a scanner one day. “Probably used the one at Stephen Kittredge's high school...” He only briefly scanned the first three folders, most of the artwork seemed a little better than the average kid her age. It was only after he started the fourth folder, the one of pictures from the past year did one of them finally catch his attention.

It was a portrait, showing just the person's head and upper torso, looking almost directly outward. It had been done in charcoal, with no color other than a minimal amount of red in the eyes, giving the impression that the person was gazing into a fire. The thing that unnerved him was that he knew that Heather didn't know who this was. But he did. It was the one person whom he never, ever wanted to see again – in this life or the next.

The person in the portrait was Ruby. 

**

They had made it as far as Columbus, Ohio before exhaustion got the better of Dean. The snow that had started falling steadily also added to it. What should have been an eight hour drive had turned into one that was nearly eleven. It was ten at night when they stopped and the need to sleep overrode the need for him to eat as he and Melpomene went into the last available room at a motel that was located just off the interstate. She'd insisted on paying and he hadn't objected – the Muse probably had a legal source of income and he was to tired to remember which one of his fake credit cards hadn't been used a few to many times. While she took a shower, Dean took advantage of the alone time to check in with Sam. His brother's cell rang twice before he answered.

“Dean?” Sam sounded startled, as if he had been in the middle of something.

“Yeah, it's me, Sammy. What's wrong?” He frowned.

“I wasn't expecting my cell to go off and everyone but me is sleeping.” He let out a long breath. “How did it go?”

“Fairly easy – even by our standards.” He smiled. “So there's good news and there's bad news.”

“That's.... never good.”

“Tell me about it. We have the Colt back, but according to Melpomene, it won't work on angels.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I think we may have to – if the demons had it a year ago and it worked on them, wouldn't a few angels shown up dead via gunshot wound and a not a stab to the neck?” He fell back on the bed, groaning. 

“That's a valid point. But just having it back is good.” Sam sighed. “Uh, Dean...”

He recognized the ominous tone in his brother's voice. “What's wrong?”

“I don't know how to explain this exactly...” He leaned forward on the kitchen table, looking over an array of pictures that he'd opened up on Heather's laptop. “I've not asked Heather or anything... but I think she might know a little more than she lets on.”

“More about what?” He sat up, frowning. 

“Well, Jo and Ellen got here this afternoon and after dinner, Heather let Jo and I see the pictures from when she went to Europe. She left us with the laptop and went to bed. After Jo went upstairs, I did a little searching on it to see what else there was.”

“Sam, normally I condone your snooping, but odds are, she's going to be pretty upset about that.” He said, almost laughing. “What'd you find out, she's a closet Edward Cullen fangirl?”

“That's not funny Dean.” He rubbed his eyes. “I found some of her artwork...it's from the summer before last.”

“You mean...”

“Yeah. The summer you were in Hell.” He took a deep breath. “I'm only guessing, but I think all while you were there, she saw things she shouldn't have been able to.”

Dean felt the color drain from his face. “Sam, what are the drawings of?”

“A lot of shapes and things don't make much sense...at least to me.” He swallowed. “It's mostly abstract... there are hardly any distinct figures... except one.”

“And?” One thought kept echoing in his mind: P _lease God, please, please don't let it be Alistair, please, anyone but him..._

“It's Ruby.” He replied flatly. “The date in the corner of it shows that she drew it in the middle of June.”

“That's...” He ran his hand through his hair. “We didn't tell Heather about her.”

“I know we didn't. That's not the point – the fact is that she drew that picture almost two years ago – and I tell you Dean, this artwork is amazing. Hell, I've not seen artwork this good from art majors I went to college with.”

“Well, consider the other half of her parentage.” He glanced at the closed bathroom door where he could still hear the shower running. “I'm willing to bet good money she's got a better singing voice than either of us.”

“I hesitate to wake her up and start asking her questions.”

Dean swallowed and closed his eyes. “Sammy, she's probably not asleep.”

“What? How do you know?”

“Call it a hunch.” He heard the water shut off in the bathroom. “Is there anything else going on?”

“No.” He took a deep breath. “You think I should ask her about all this?”

“Sam, I think we've reached the point where the more information we have the better.” 

“Fine.” He stood and went to the fridge for a beer. “You'll be back tomorrow?”

“Probably early in the evening, around seven or so, if the weather cooperates.” Dean sighed. “Night Sam.”

“Night Dean.” He closed his cell and looked up. Standing in the doorway, her arms folded and a glare on her face that could make lava freeze, was Heather. 

*  
Dean closed his cell and then dug the charger out of his bag. The motel was of a higher grade than what he and Sam usually stayed in, this much was evident in the fact that the decor didn't seem to be stuck in the seventies. The television looked to be a mere five years old, as opposed to ten. After plugging in the charger and setting the phone on the bedside table, he stuck the Colt in the room safe, wishing he could add a few more locks to it. He stuck his customary knife under one of the pillows as he heard the bathroom door open. “You done in there?”

“Yes.” Melpomene replied and went over to the far side of the room where her coat was hanging. “There's still plenty of towels left.” 

“Sure.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she removed the two sofa cushions off and pulled out the fold up bed inside it. “In case I forget to tell you later... thanks.”

“For what?” She looked up, surprised. 

“With the Colt.” He sat down on the bed to take off his boots.

“You're welcome.” She replied, going to the far side of the single bed and taking one of the pillows. “I don't get a lot of thank yous....”

“I know the feeling.” He responded and after digging out a clean shirt and boxers from his bag, went into the bathroom. After the long day, the hot water felt good as Dean held his face up towards the spray. The faucet actually worked without having to wrench it around and adjust it. The lack of mold in the bathroom was also a welcome change. His mind wasn't on the nearly twelve hour drive tomorrow, when he'd arrive at Bobby's worn out and facing who knew what.

He was more worried about what Sam had found. Castiel had stated that Heather might have a more developed sixth sense than the rest of the world hadn't bothered him until now. Hell had been indescribably horrible – there were no words for it. If it wasn't for the fact that he was exhausted and only an idiot would drive in the weather outside, he'd be getting dressed and driving hell bent for Sioux Falls in a matter of minutes. 

That did bring him to tomorrow's drive – when they reached the South Dakota state line, Melpomene would take off and go do... whatever it was Muses did. Still, eleven hours was a considerably long time and spending it in silence wasn't something he really wanted. Talk had been avoided today by the rapidly changing weather and he'd spent a few hours blasting Zeppelin from the Impala's speakers. The longest stretch of silence he and Sam had ever managed with both of them awake was four hours – and even then, it hadn't been totally silent. His brother was usually checking up on something in dad's journal or reading some other kind of information. Music didn't count as part of the silence. He'd driven plenty of times alone with only music for company. 

Why, exactly, had he insisted that she travel with him almost all the way back to South Dakota in the first place? _Because Sam's not with you and you might need backup._ Granted, going by size alone, Dean didn't think the Muse was all that physically powerful. He lathered up the washcloth and scrubbed his face. Now that they had the Colt back, he didn't really know what the next move would be. Maybe Sam would find a case for them by the time he got back. _Yeah, and maybe Michael can find himself a different vessel and this whole thing can be over without me and Sam having to say yes._ He turned the water off and grabbed a towel from the rack. 

After brushing his teeth he went back into the room, shoving his dirty clothes back into his bag. The lamp next to the bed was the only one still on. He checked the locks on the door and glanced over at the sofa bed. All he could make out of Melpomene was the top her head just visible above the blankets and her right foot, which was uncovered. He sat down on the bed and stared at the sleeping figure for a full minute and found himself wondering whether or not the color of her painted toenails was blue or purple. He pulled back the covers, turned out the light and crawled into bed. Five minutes later, Dean was starting to wish he'd taken a cold shower as opposed to a hot one.

**

Sam set the bottle on the table. “How long were you standing there, Heather?”

“Five, maybe ten minutes.” She hadn't moved from the doorway, nor had her expression changed. “Why is it that adults go poking through children's belongings like it's nothing, but kids can't go snooping without getting punished?”

He recognized the edge in her voice. “Because adults usually have a good reason to go looking.”

“And what was yours?” She managed to keep her voice down, not wanting the others to be woken up and jumping onto the interrogation bandwagon. 

“Sit down.” He nodded to the chair she'd vacated an hour earlier, he tried to keep his voice even. “Please.” He added.

Heather reluctantly went to the indicated seat, setting her arms on the table, still folded. “Does this mean I get to poke around on your laptop later? Or are you worried I'll find all your porn?”

He sat down, surprised he could keep his temper. “I don't have any of that on my computer.” He mirrored her stance. “I am going to ask you this once, and only once – and I want you to tell me the absolute truth.”

Heather blinked at him, lifting her chin slightly. “Yes, Sam?”

“Two years ago... did you have nightmares?” He saw what little color there was in her face drain, making the small spattering of freckles on her nose and cheekbones look black. 

“Why is that important?” Her voice shook and she winced at her inability to speak clearly.

“Answer me, Heather – yes or no.” He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“Yes.” She swallowed. “I don't know what day they started, it was before school was let out for the summer. It lasted until the middle of September.” She bit her bottom lip. 

“Every night?”

“Nearly.” Her voice started to shake slightly. “That's... that's why I drunk that Mountain Dew before the trip to Europe.” She blinked and tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “So I wouldn't have one on the plane ride.”

“You lied about the dare from the kids.” He'd heard about the Dew incident from Dean.

“Yeah.” She looked down. “I...my dad said not to talk about it... he said he was going to try and get a hold of someone... but whoever it was, they never answered his phone calls.” 

“Shit, Heather... why didn't you mention this?”

“They stopped right before my birthday and haven't come back. I didn't think it was important.”

“At this point, a lot of things that might not seem important might actually be.” He turned the laptop around, so she could see the image of Ruby. “This woman... does she have a name?”

“I don't know... I never gave her one.” She looked away. “But I didn't like her.”

“Then why did you draw her?”

“Dad said it was important. He said the person he was trying to contact would need all the information we could give them. So, I drew the images and we scanned them onto the computer. They're also in a folder on my deviant-art account.”

“Did your dad ever tell you who he was trying to contact?”

“No. When the dreams stopped, he told me to do my best to forget about it. I just filed it under don't ask, don't tell.” She shifted in her seat so she could rest her chin on her knee. “Do you know her?”

He swallowed and nodded slightly. “Her name was Ruby. She...” He wasn't about to tell her what had happened between him and that... creature. “You were right not to like her.” 

“She laughed a lot.”

“She what?”

“Whenever she showed up in a dream, she was always laughing... cackling, more like it...” She hugged her leg. “Put Helena Bottam Carter's laugh as Bellatrix Lestrange to shame.”

“Yeah...” He swallowed. “She did.” He took a steadying breath before continuing. “Did your mom know anything about this?” He turned the computer back around. 

“She knew about the dreams...” She poked one hand with the other, keeping her gaze down. “She was worried I was developing some kind of neurological disorder...and when tests showed that there was nothing wrong, she was ready to go for some kind of psychological problem. Dad said he didn't want me seeing a shrink. I don't know what conclusion they reached, or even if they did – I think the dreams stopped before they reached an agreement.”

“Do you still have the sketch book that these pictures were drawn in?”

She shook her head. “No. When the nightmares stopped my dad took it. Kind of out of sight out of mind, I think. I don't know what he did with it.” She swallowed. “I have a different sketchbook now.”

Sam let out a long breath. “You mind if I see it?” 

She shook her head and left the room to retrieve it. When she came back, she saw that he'd pushed the laptop aside and the picture folder was closed. “There's not much in it yet...” She sat down as she handed the book to him. 

Sam took it from her and flipped it open and looked over the first few pictures that were nature scenes, a view looking out into a yard that he realized must have been a view from her home in Jasper. “This one's pretty new, isn't it?”

“Yeah... I just started it in September. I've gotten a sketchbook from Grandma Langley every year since I turned eight.”

“You have a grandmother still alive?”

“Yeah. Grams lives in an assisted living place in Flagstaff.”

“Dean and I didn't have grandparents... all four of ours died before Dean was even born...” He turned a few more pages and then things grew familiar. There was a drawing of Bobby's family room as it would look from the top of the stairs, another one of Bobby, then he paused on a page and looked up. “Does my hair really look like that?”

“When it's not combed, yeah.” She felt her cheeks turn pink. “Sorry.”

“No, no it's...” He turned another page and as he suspected, found a drawing of Dean. “You know, this is scarily good work.” 

“Thanks... I think.” She scratched the side of her nose. “Not had anyone tell me I was scarily good at anything.”

“Well, you are...” He grinned and flipped over to the next page and paused. “Heather... have you ever seen a photograph of my dad?”

“No, why?” She looked surprised.

“Because...” He turned the book around. “This is who this is. You're certain you've not seen a picture?”

“That's your dad?” Heather blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Sam frowned. “If you haven't seen a photo, where have you seen him?” He set the book down.

She swallowed. “That night... back in Jasper....” She leaned forward, as if the room as full of people who could overhear them. “He's the person who told me I had to wake up. I didn't want to, but he was adamant about it.”

“And you did wake up...” He nodded in agreement.

“Puked my guts out in the bathroom.” She added as she looked down at her hands. 

He took a deep breath. “If you hadn't done that...” He covered his eyes with one of his hands. “Damn it...” He didn't want to think about what would have happened. He turned another page and blinked. “Wow...” He looked up. “That's Cas, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” She looked down at the sketch and smiled. “That's what Castiel looks like.”

“When Dean gets back, do you care if he looks at these?”

“I guess not.” She shrugged and leaned down to rest her chin on her folded arms. “Is there anything else you want to ask me about?”

Sam shut the sketchbook and then turned off the laptop. “As a matter of fact, yes...” He took a sip of the beer, rather surprised it was still cold and then rested his arms on the table, mirroring her position, so they were on eye level. “What is a girl your age doing with Johnny Cash in her I-Tunes folder?”

“You don't like Johnny Cash?” She arched one eyebrow.

“I didn't say that... I'm just... rather surprised you do.”

“I like Johnny Cash because a lot of today's music sucks... and unfortunately, a lot of classic rock just makes my head hurt.”

“What kind of classic rock doesn't make your head hurt?” Sam was laughing internally – Dean was going to have a field day with this when he got back.

“Bon Jovi, for one.” She slowly smiled. “Pink Floyd and Jefferson Airplane aren't half bad either.”

“Be sure to tell Dean that when he gets back.” He reached over and ruffled her hair. “I think you're going to turn out all right.” He sat up straight and took another sip of beer. “Maybe we can get him off the Mullet Rock.”

“I'm not entirely sure what that's supposed to mean...” She stretched and stood up. “But Sam? I think we've got a better chance of winning a game of hockey against the Canadians than we do about changing his mind... if he's just as stubborn as we are.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “That's very true....” He took a deep breath to calm his mirth and looked up at her. “But Heather? If the dreams start up again... don't keep it to yourself, understood?”

“Understood.” She took the sketchbook and her laptop and went upstairs. A moment later, Sam heard the door of her room shut. He drained the last of his beer, stood up and went to brush his teeth, still chuckling under his breath.


	9. Life, Less Ordinary

Melpomene wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep – she was guessing maybe no more than a few hours. What woke her up wasn't the distant noise on the highway of few heavy rigs braving the weather or even the roar of the wind, heralding the arrival of a storm that had moved into the Ohio River Valley with all the fury of a hurricane. No, it was a noise in the room itself that caused her to sit up and look around. She was at first a little disoriented as to her location, then realized she was sitting on a couch opposite the large bed on the other side of the hotel room. Heavy, short sleep always made her a little off-balanced. She shook her head to clear it and then realized exactly what was going on. 

Dean was in the middle of what sounded like a very bad nightmare. 

She tossed the blankets aside and crossed the room, shivering in the change of temperature from the warm bed to the mild room. Leaning over, she put one hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly. “Dean?” She shook him again. “Dean, you're dreaming, wake up.” 

It happened all in an instant. One moment she'd been trying to wake him up, the next minute, his eyes shot open and he reacted on pure instinct. He grabbed the arm that was on his shoulder and yanked all one hundred and fifteen pounds of her over himself and onto the bed. A second later, Dean had her pinned beneath him, his knees on her arms, the knife that had been under his pillow was now pointed at her throat. She hissed as the steel and silver blade bit into her flesh. 

Breathing hard, Dean stared down at Melpomene, his mind still caught in the nightmare he'd just escaped. He was back in Hell – he'd never been released, there was no hope for him, no future – nothing but blackness and pain. The blade's point drew blood and at that moment reality started to come back to him. “Oh, shit...” He pulled the weapon away and backed off from her. “You...”

Melpomene sat up, rubbing the slight wound. “I'm okay.” She looked at the blood on her fingers. “You were dreaming.”

“Yeah.” Dean set the knife on the bedside table. “I... sorry about that.” He tried to slow his breathing.

“I should have known better.” She wiped her fingers on the hem of her shirt. “I'll let you get back to sleep.” She got off of the bed and returned to her own. 

He stared at her for a moment before going into the bathroom to wash his face. The cold water helped calm him down some – the nightmares of Hell seemed to be getting worse. He came back into the room and sat down on the bed. “You still awake?”

“Yes.” She replied, but she didn't sit up. “Did you want to talk?”

“I don't think I'm going to getting back to sleep any time soon.” He got back under the covers, staring at the ceiling. “Is it still snowing?”

“Yes. I think the storm that we drove through came from Canada and now we're getting visited by a storm that's fresh from the Great Plains”

“Shit.” He rubbed his face. “I hate driving in bad weather.”

“Well, the snow removal in this area is pretty efficient, I would imagine.” She tucked the pillow under her chin, sighing. “Not like New Orleans... it snows half an inch and they close the city down.”

Dean rolled over so he could just see her across the room. “You don't think we'll get snowed in, do you?”

“I certainly hope not.” She said in reply. “Of course, if I had to be stuck somewhere with someone for a day or two, you'd be on the short list of people I'd want to be stuck with.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Very much so.” She sat up. “What's the matter, surprised?”

“Sort of...” He shook his head and rolled onto his back. “I mean, you must have known people a lot more interesting than I am.”

“Just because a person is interesting Dean, doesn't mean I'd want to be stuck somewhere with them.” She shrugged and laid back down. 

“Melpomene?” He took a deep breath. “Do you know... what happened to me in Hell?”

She blinked a few times before answering. “Yes, I do.” 

He swallowed. “It doesn't bother you?”

“No, Dean. I've seen horror on Earth, so at times one man's acts are dwarfed by another's.”

“I _liked_ torturing those souls.” He sat back up, rubbing his eyes. “That makes me more of a monster than...”

“Hell is a terrible place – and Alistair had to be one of the most horrible beings that ever lived.”

“You knew Alistair?” He didn't know why that surprised him. The Muse could very well have known Lucifer _before_ he became evil incarnate. 

“I knew him when he was still human.” She sat up, leaning forward. “That man was born evil. He was a Spartan – he beat five wives to death because they only bore daughters. He smothered each of those baby girls... fifteen of them in all. He cut a path of blood and death across the battlefield that was inhuman. When he met his own demise at the hands of a Roman General, Ares actually threw a party to celebrate. Considering that my brother, the Greek god of War, was glad he was dead, that's saying something.”

“Are you serious?” He winced. 

“As a heart attack.” She rested her arms on her knees. “Hell was too good for that man. It's a shame there's not a room down there full of fluffy bunnies like the one in Monty Python where they could have locked him up.”

“Well, this is a nice subject to be discussing in the middle of the night.” 

“You brought it up.” She shrugged. “Besides, the people in the room next to us are deaf, so we don't have to worry about being heard.”

Dean was trying to get the picture Alistair being trounced by small, fluffy, white rabbits with fangs out of his mind. “Have you been there? To Hell, I mean.”

“Not in a very long time.” She closed her eyes. “A very, very long time.”

“This subject sucks, what else is there to talk about?” He didn't want to remember what had happened down there and the current conversation wasn't helping. 

“Let's see...” She stood up and came and sat down on the foot of the bed. “You've probably not read any books recently, I've not watched any television, the weather is speaking for itself and odds are neither of us have seen an exceptionally good movie or a concert lately.” She pursed her lip, thinking. 

Something went off in his mind before he responded – _Why did she move over here?_ “I don't think I've ever been to a concert that wasn't held in a bar... except for a few outdoor festivals.”

“You do enough traveling, you should find a way to crash the concerts at a few state fairs. Heck, you can just pull into the parking area for that.” She tucked her legs up under her. “Not to mention state fairs have an _amazing_ selection of junk food. The deep fried Snickers Bars alone are worth the trip...”

“I'm not one for country music – particularly _modern_ country music.” He chuckled.

“It's not all country music... then again, I saw where your music taste is stuck, so it's no wonder you have no idea what's good these days.” She shrugged. “But you do get points for knowing that Rap is garbage.”

“Points huh?” He pushed the covers aside and leaned closer to her. “I was unaware that there was a point system.”

She slowly smiled. “Don't tell me you don't know about the crackers and the cookies.”

He felt the corners of his mouth lift. “Yeah, I do know about that. I just never heard it applied before.” He moved so that his forehead rested against hers. “I don't suppose you'd care to enlighten me.” He was half expecting her to shove him away. “Would you?” He set one arm over her and leaned on it. 

Melpomene set one hand on his face, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. She lifted her chin slightly, so that their eyes were exactly on the same level. “The system starts off with basic appearance... getting to know the man in question actually puts in the details.” She was fairly certain he could hear her heart pounding in her chest – because she could definitely hear his. “After due consideration and a bit of research, I've come to a very definite conclusion.”

“And what's that?” Dean grinned mischievously and he had to wonder if she'd been keeping this in since she got into the Impala a few days ago.

“The conclusion that you're neither a cracker or a cookie.” Her eyebrows lifted as she saw his face falter slightly. “You are one thing I didn't think it'd be possible to find...” She let her own lips draw into a grin. “You Dean, are the elusive and next to impossible to find powdered doughnut.”

“And that's good?” He smirked.

“Have you ever in your life eaten one of those without making a mess?” 

“No.” He set his other hand on the back of her neck. “You?”

“I'd say it's next to impossible to eat one of those neatly.” She answered before pressing her lips against his. The last time she had kissed him, he had tasted of Budweiser Select and Midori – and a twinge of something that only came from those who were one of the damned. Now, there was only the mint of toothpaste and another taste had she never thought she'd taste twice in her life – the wondrous taste of pure redemption. 

**

Noah Levin rubbed his eyes tiredly as he finished grading another quiz. At the end of every semester he knew this time came but yet it always seemed to catch him by surprise. Wesley was asleep upstairs and the faint sound of rain was lashing against the windows. Normally, his TA, Nellie Shaara would be the one grading the quizzes of his Concepts of Mathematics students, but she had papers to write for her own classes and her own exams to study for. Sometimes he had to wonder if he had made the right decision in becoming a professor at Georgetown University rather than getting into some kind of research field. Then he would remind himself that if he got something wrong in a classroom, he could fix it the next day and move on – and deal with being reminded every now and then. If you screwed up in a lab, it could cost serious money and possibly lives. He marked the grade down in his book and turned to the next quiz.

As he sat there, trying to figure out if he was looking at a four or a nine by looking at other numbers that were clearer, Noah heard a creak in the hallway. Not looking up, he cleared his throat. “Wesley, it's okay, you can come in.”

There was no response. 

“Wesley?” He put the paper down as the creak was repeated. As he'd already turned the alarm system on, he knew no one could have broken into the house without him hearing it, he stood and went to the doorway, looking out into the hallway. “Wesley Jacob?” He said, slightly annoyed. The ten year old was far to big for these sorts of games. He heard another creak and turned back towards the room he'd just left. He staggered back at the sight of what was there.

Standing in front of the fireplace was a young man, Noah guessed he was sixteen or seventeen. He was dressed oddly, in a worn blue coat and beige trousers – like a Revolutionary Solider. As the professor kept looking, he could clearly see his own desk on the other side of the man – as if he wasn't even there. The boy was staring straight out the window – rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet. 

“Hello?” Noah was starting to think he'd fallen asleep and was dreaming. _Dad, could our house be haunted?_ The conversation from last week in the car popped into his head. Okay, maybe, just maybe...

_That's impossible – there's...no... such... thing..._

His thoughts were cut off as the figure started to pace and if Noah didn't know better, he would say the ghost, boy – whatever the hell he was, was agitated.  
 _  
“Den prepei na to mathei pote...”_

Now Noah knew he had to be dreaming.... because the figure was speaking Greek.

 _“Mhin tou to pis, aderfoula mou. Apagorevetai na to mathei, apagorevetai na to mathei!”  
_  
With that, the image faded out, leaving Noah alone – the ghost's words translating in the man's mind.   
_He must never know this. Do not tell him little sister, it is forbidden that he learns this! Forbidden he learns this!_

Staggering back over to his desk, the professor shook his head, wondering if he had just seen proof that ghosts were real... or if he was, in fact, dreaming. Either way, he was looking into the history of this house as soon as the semester was over. I have to be dreaming – why would a ghost in the middle of Maryland be speaking Greek?

**

Heather came downstairs the next morning, contemplating what exactly qualified as 'strange' to Sam and the others. She knew that constant nightmares had to be something – but what about a dream that kept repeating itself? Ellen and Jo must have left before she got up, or so she was judging from the half drunk pot of coffee in the kitchen and the fact that Sam was still snoring away. She shuffled to the fridge and filled up a glass with juice before sitting down at the table. She didn't want to say anything, but this place was starting to get to her – the endless monotony of each day. Perhaps it was the fact that she was used to a different way of living. 

She was used to getting up each morning, getting dressed, going to school, come home, do homework, have dinner – and depending on the day of the week, watch an hour or two of television before going to her room and reading or studying before bed. Bobby hadn't wanted her cleaning to much of anything anymore – he was worried she might misplace something. He said he knew where everything was and didn't want anything meddled with. She took a sip of juice as she heard Sam grunt before getting up. She didn't want to complain, but quite honestly, the aloneness she felt here only made her grief a little more persistent.

“Morning.” Sam said as he came into the kitchen. “You're up early... trouble sleeping?”

“No...” She shrugged. “I think I'm used to getting up at this time... for school and all.”

“Yeah.” He retrieved a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “Dean should be back tonight.”

“I don't see that will make much difference... that means the two of you will probably take off tomorrow afternoon or tomorrow morning.” 

Sam took a sip of coffee. “It's not like Dean and I can take you with us. It's to dangerous.”

“I know that.” She poked the circle of water her glass left on the table. “I probably shouldn't be complaining anyway...”

“I think it's your due.” He nodded. “I'm surprised Ellen didn't take you with her and Jo.”

“I don't exactly fit in with anyone around here.” She sighed. “I mean, until three weeks ago, the only scary thing I had to watch out for were creepy people on the Internet.”

He nodded in agreement. “Well, it's not like any of us have ever faced a situation like this before. So we're pretty much as confused as what to do with you as you are.”

“You didn't seem too confused three weeks ago.”

“Things were different then. We thought it'd just be for a couple of weeks – or at most, several months.”

She took a sip from her glass. “So what happens when this is all over? You going to just drop me off at my godparent's house in Charleston?” 

“I don't know.” Sam sighed. “I wish I could give you a straight answer on that, but I can't.”

“Well, in three weeks I can go back to school... or something...” She sighed. “I'm starting to think Bobby doesn't like me here all that much.”

“That could be because you're a girl.” He shook his head. “I mean, no offense or anything...”

“I kind of figured it was something like that...” She stared down into her drink. 

He took another sip of coffee in response and then lowered the cup. “Bobby taught you how to clean the guns, right?”

“Yeah, why?” She looked up. 

“How about I teach you how to fire one?”

“What?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

Sam folded his arms, studying her. “Well, I told you it was to dangerous to take you with Dean and I... but that's partially because you don't know how to...defend yourself physically.”

“So you want to teach me how to fire a gun?”

“Why not?” He slowly smiled. “I think it's better if you can learn now – when there is no danger, rather than trying to figure it out when there is.”

“You're serious about this, aren't you?”

“It'd get you out of the house and give us something to do today.” He took a drink of coffee. “How tall are you?”

“Five feet even...and last time I had a checkup, I weighed in at a hundred and ten pounds.” She sat up a little straighter. “Though given my current diet, I may have added a pound or two...”

“That's okay.” Sam nodded. “Left or right handed?”

“Right.” She drained the last of her juice as they heard a grunt coming from the other room. “We get to have breakfast first, right?”

“Of course, can't train on an empty stomach.” He stood up and went to get more coffee.

**  
Dean glared in annoyance out the window of the hotel room. Snow was still roaring past and the Impala, just like all the other cars in the parking lot, were practically buried. Of course, he probably wouldn't know that the snow covered mound in front of the window was his car if he hadn't parked it there last night. He knew that getting out Ohio today would be next to impossible, unless it stopped snowing and the plows worked double time. He grimaced as his stomach growled, reminding him that he'd not eaten in close to twelve hours. Shutting the curtains, he looked back into the room. Melpomene was buried under the covers of the bed – save for one foot – just like last night. Although now in the dull light of the room, he could tell that the nails were painted a bright shade of purple. “You awake?” He asked as he sat down on the bed.

“No.” Her reply was muffled. “What time is it?”

“It's just after nine.” He told her as he rubbed his face. “I have no idea how much snow has fallen out there...” 

Melpomene stretched and pushed back the blanket from her face. “You want me to go dig out the car, or something?”

“I don't think it'd do any good.” He leaned back against the false headboard, his arms folded. “I don't think we're getting out of here any time before three today – that is, if it stops snowing in the next thirty minutes.”

“Peachy.” She grumbled as she reached one arm from under the covers and grabbed her shirt from the floor. She pulled it on as she sat up, wincing. “I feel sorry for that poor guy who was working the front desk last night... he's probably still there.” She blinked once or twice. “You need to eat.”

“I know. I'm working up the strength to wade through that mess out there to hit the vending machines in the lobby.”

“That vending machine was probably picked clean sometime last night before midnight.” She rubbed her face again. “I'm willing to bet that even the peanuts that have been there since last Christmas are gone.” 

“I don't suppose you have a suggestion as to where we're going to be getting food, do you?” 

“Let me get dressed... I'll go get something...” 

“You're going out in this mess?”

“You might say that.” She stood up, reached into one of her coat pockets and went into the bathroom. 

He stood up and followed her to the closed door. “You're just going to what, do the weird moving through space thing that Cas does?” 

“Why, you have a problem with that?” She opened the door, fully dressed.

“How do I...” He blinked. “Did you just...” He shook his head. “And here I thought angels were hard to figure out.”

“No, I didn't go anywhere...let's just leave it at my coat has really deep pockets.”

“You carry a whole wardrobe around in your coat?” He grinned as she ducked under his arm.

“Of course not.” She shrugged. “Usually just around a week's worth of clothes – sometimes more.”

“I guess it's a good thing you never go through airport security.”

“I'll say. I've got a few things tucked away that'd have me locked up faster than I can blink.” She went to her coat and dug out her phone. “Here. I'm going to leave this with you – so you know I will be back. If it rings, don't answer it... just let it go to voice mail.”

He took it and then gave her a look. “I don't suppose we can just forget staying here and you zapping us back to South Dakota, can we?”

“It doesn't work that way.” She pulled her coat on. “Humans, animals – small objects... that's easy. The bigger and more complex something is, the harder it becomes.” She pulled the collar up. “I could transport us back that way... but odds are, when I moved your car, I'd leave half of what's in it sitting in the parking lot.”

“That...” He went to sit on the bed. “That's good to know.”

 

“Anything in particular you want to eat?”

“What are the options?”

“Oh... the usual... eggs, bacon... pancakes... I'd offer you bananas foster, but this is a non-smoking room.”

“Anything is fine.”

“That's a dangerous thing to say. I could come back from Tokyo with sushi.” She grinned and vanished before he could reply.

“I really hope she was kidding about that.” He said as she disappeared. He set the phone on the nightstand and went to retrieve the remote from on top of the television. As he sat back down, he flipped his phone open and hit the first number on his speed dial. Two rings later, he heard his brother answer.

“Hey Dean.”

“Sam... look, we're snowed in here in Ohio – I don't know when we're going to be able to get out.” He turned onto the local news. “Everything okay over there?”

“Same as always.” Was his curt reply. “Uh, listen... I think Heather's getting a little stir crazy.”

“Well, that's understandable. You think she can hold out until we can get her back into school?”

“I don't know if that will help much.” Sam sighed as he took a sip of coffee. “Have you talked to Cas?”

“No. Not since we left the two of you back in Georgia. Why?”

“Look, Dean... I think we have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Three weeks ago, this situation with Heather was going to be temporary... what are we going to do when it's all over? Even if we do stop the Apocalypse, it's not like she can go back to her normal life...Even if there was a home for her to go back to.”

“What are you saying Sam?”

“I'm saying....” He sighed and leaned against the counter, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I think we may just have to make her a part of this. All of it.”

Dean closed his eyes. “Let me see if I get this straight, Sam... you want to turn that thirteen year old girl into a hunter?”

“You have a better idea? See if Cas can somehow wipe her memory and we drop her off with some local law enforcement?”

“The hell with that.” His voice took on a sharp edge. The option his brother had just thrown out seemed almost as cruel as the one he was trying to advocate. “She's a kid, Sammy... a kid who, until a month ago, was off every single demon and angel's radar. Hell, none of them even knew about her.”

“She has to be able to protect herself.” He stared towards the stairs, praying that Heather would stay upstairs until this call was over. “Even if we did send her back to some relative of hers, things will still be after her. Because of dad, because of us...”

“If you say she's cursed, I swear, I will run all the way to South Dakota and kick your ass.”

Sam took a deep breath. “I'm not saying we take off with her in the back seat of the Impala from here on out... I'm saying that she at least needs to know how defend herself.”

Dean rubbed his eyes. “God, you sound like dad.”

“What else are we supposed to do?”

“We'll figure something out.” He glanced down at Melpomene's phone which had started to vibrate, the name 'Callie' in the display window. “And don't take off anywhere with Heather riding shotgun unless you absolutely have to.”

“I can agree to that.” Sam straightened up as he saw Heather coming down the stairs. “I'll talk to you later.”

“Sure.” He replied and hung up. “Dammit.” 

**

The room was perfectly quiet, the only light provided by a kerosene lamp and the only sound came from it's single occupant's slow, steady breathing. In the pale amber glow of the flickering light, the shadow behind the figure appeared six times as large as they really were. The walls were covered in a faded, peeling wallpaper that when it was news, was a creamy white with small blue flowers. No one had lived in this house in decades. The farm it had once been a central part of was long gone, trees had grown right up the the sagging front porch. Outside, the wind was making a cacophony of noise in swaying branches, cracking limbs and the crushing sound of freezing rain. 

Inside, in this single room, it was warm. The occupant let out another breath, pressed a silver knife to their bare arm and steeled themselves against the pain as a faint trickle of blood came forth. Setting down the knife, the figure then drew a circle around themselves and after clamping a hand on the wound, knelt back down, resting their weight on the back of their bare feet. 

A breeze brushed against the solitary figure, oddly warm in this raging cold. The light flickered in it's glass frame and then the breeze grew into a large shadow, gazing down at the figure. The circle of blood erupted into a circle of blue fire, trapping the person who knelt there. In the flames, they could see clearly the one whom they had willingly set their own trap for. “Rise.” There was a breath. “Speak.”

The person stood, blinking at them, both awed and afraid. “I accept my role in the part of destiny. I give myself over to the power that is above all other powers and to those that serve Him.” 

The figure smiled and the fire slowly parted, freeing the woman. “It was written that it would come to this.” It released a gentle rush of air, brushing against the other's cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Having sacrificed yourself to His will, is there anything you request in return?”

“Yes.” The woman's voice was barely audible. “I ask that the family that has so lovingly taken in my last child be protected. I do not wish him to suffer as my sister's child suffers.”

The figure took a step towards the woman and set a hand on her cheek. “Is this all you ask for?”

“Yes. I ask for the protection of Nathan Turabian and his family.” She raised her gaze to meet the figure's. “That is all I ask for, Michael.”

The angel smiled and pulled away from her. “Very well, Urania. It will be as you have requested.”

“Thank you.” She bowed her head as the wind suddenly roared into the house, snuffing the room into pitch darkness, leaving the youngest of the nine Muses alone. Wordlessly, she pocketed the knife and then re-lit the lantern and made her way outside to trudge through the driving storm and bitterly cold Canadian wilderness, still barefooted – sealing the deal she had just made with the archangel. She steeled herself up as the wind tore at her nearly bare legs, rubbing the already pale skin raw. One hand held the lamp and the other sheltered the opening from the storm. Five miles from here was a cabin – where warm clothes and a fire was waiting for her. She took another determined step forward – knowing that two other sisters had walked through a similar test. One through fire and the other through wind. 

**

Dean set his phone back down, resisting the urge to hurl it across the room. He saw that Melpomene's was vibrating again, the name 'Callie' flashing almost angrily at him. “Wonder who's calling her...” He shrugged it off, still fuming as he watched the news, where an evilly perky newscaster who'd probably drunk a whole pot of coffee was cheerily telling the people of Columbus that a foot of snow had fallen and that another half foot was expected before the storm was done. Dean folded his arms and watched the news ticker on the bottom of the screen displaying the names of all the closed schools, services and businesses in the area. He'd seen 'East Ashbury High' click past three times when Melpomene came back into the room. “Tell me you didn't really go to Tokyo to get sushi.”

“Please.” She set a sack and a cardboard carrier on the table near the window. “If I wanted raw fish for breakfast, I'd have just had to gone to London. There's plenty of good sushi houses in that city.”

“Your phone went off a few times...” He stood up and took one of the tall cups of coffee from the carrier. “Someone named Callie.”

“That can't be good.” She went across the room and retrieved her Blackberry and listened to the messages. Hitting the off button in annoyance, she set the phone back down and went to the table. “No way am I talking to my sister on an empty stomach... If she took the trouble to actually call me and not send a message through Atty, she wants something.”

Dean took a gulp of hot coffee and let out a relieved breath. “I'm starting to feel like a human being again...” He opened up the paper bag and set the two containers on the table. “Where did you go for breakfast?”

“St. Johns, Newfoundland...the other places I like to eat in Canada won't be open for a few more hours – and people in Florida give you weird looks when you show up out of nowhere wearing a wool coat. Not to mention the fact that whenever I'm in Florida, I just _have_ to get this to die for cheese soufflé and they tend to collapse when you jostle them.” She gestured towards the window. “Boston, Washington and New York are nightmares right now – this storm is just going to _bury_ New England... which should make all the skiers happy.”

“I don't thing I've ever eaten soufflé – sounds weird. There are people who actually like this crappy weather?” He sat down at the table and opened one of the containers, guessing they held the same food in each. “This isn't moose bacon, is it?”

“No, it's not – I don't even think you can get bacon from a moose and have it be any good.” She took the other cup of coffee and leaned against the wall before taking a drink. “And yes, there are people who actually like this kind of weather.”

“Crazy.” He started in on the food, his stomach rumbled in welcome after the first bite of toast. “You ever seen this much snow?”

“Not in a while – at least, not in this area of the world.” She took another sip of coffee. “You should see some of the blizzards they have in Siberia. It's just going to be a rough winter all around, Apocalypse or no.” She snickered. “Of course, next to an ice age, this is pretty much nothing.”

“Figures you'd compare it to something like that.” He opened the small plastic container of utensils and started in on the fried eggs. 

Melpomene came over and sat down in the other chair. “Ice ages really weren't all that snowy... besides, I'm trying to get myself into a better mood before talking to Callie... it's never fun.”

“Why is that?”

“My sister Calliope is very, very bossy – and our father lets her get away with it. And I have to put up with her being that way towards me because she's older than I am... by about twenty minutes. I'm also the poor sap who's been stuck defending one of our younger siblings when she's being _exceptionally_ bossy.”

Dean picked up a piece of bacon and tore it in half. “How many brothers and sisters do you have, anyway?”

“Total? Including all the half blooded ones?” She thought for a moment. “One hundred and seven... give or take nine or ten...at least that are accounted for.”

He gagged. “Are they all still alive?”

“No. A lot of the half-blooded children are dead... those that aren't usually spend their time wandering around Mount Olympus bitching about how they didn't get any special powers in being half-god.” She rolled her eyes and took bite of toast. “I remain convinced it's seeing how bratty our baby siblings are is the reason that my sister Atty doesn't like boys.”

Dean didn't bother to finish chewing when he spoke. “You mean she's...”

“Well, yeah... and that's why there's porn... the other seven and I were spoofing on her. The goth movement was to spoof me – of course, she and I are both having the last laugh on each of those, I guess. Although if porn has somehow become an art, I'm the Czarina of Tokyo.”

He swallowed painfully. “Family dinners at your house must be interesting.” It was about the only think he could think of as a response. 

“That's why we only do it once a decade. We don't all sit down together, that's just asking for something bad to happen...we're not very powerful on our own, but put us all together...” She shuddered and finished off her piece of bacon. “I always spend it playing Risk with Ares because no one wants to play charades anymore. Or rather, no one wants to play charades with my sisters and I, because we always win.” She took a paper napkin and wiped her fingers off. “I better return this call before Callie starts looking for me. She may hate vampires, but she hates hunters even more.” Taking another sip of coffee, she took her phone and ran through a list of numbers on the speed-dial. 

Dean could clearly see how fake the smile on her face was as she hit a button and took another sip of coffee. He turned his attention back to his food, trying very hard not to look to interested in what was going on.

Melpomene heard two rings in her ear and then a voice, similar to hers, but with a more clipped accent greeted her.

“Hello, Penny. Why didn't you answer me earlier?”

“Hello, Callie... ever think I might in a different time zone than you?” She kept her voice even. “Where are you, anyway?”

“Auckland... it's only....” There was a pause. “It's only ten at night... it can't be that late where you are... can it?”

“Well, if I was in Hawaii, I'd be pretty pissed right now. But I take it you didn't call me just to play catch up and confirm plans for February.”

Dean glanced up at that. “What?” 

She made a shushing gesture with her finger along with a look that made him avert his gaze. 

“Well, little sister, I'm having to play middleman here...” Callie took a breath. “Tia wants to ask you for a favor.”

“What?” She pulled the phone away from her ear and hit her other hand with it a few times. “Excuse me, I thought you just said _Thalia_ wanted a favor from me.”

“I did.” Her voice remained placid.

She shot Dean another look. “Well, now I _know_ the world is coming to an end.”

“Nonsense.... this is just another one of those spats the angels and demons are having like they did back right before that thing in Egypt.”

“Uh huh. So what does Tia want from me?” She stood up and started to pace the room. 

“She wants to trade places... I don't know if it's Clio or Annie that's finally gotten to her.” Callie's voice started to sound tired.

Melpomene winced. “She went to dad, didn't she?”

“Melly...” Her voice got a slight edge to it.

“Don't start on that Melly thing...just tell me.” She mentally congratulated herself at keeping her voice calm.

“She did.” She sighed. “Sister, I know of the nine of us, you and Polly...”

“That's because I've been keeping her out of trouble, damn it.” She leaned against the wall. “You know as well as I do that Tia would never ask for this if there wasn't something in it for her.”

“Melpomene, I hate it that she's one of dad's favorites too...”

“This has nothing to do with that.” She barely kept her voice even. “I'm only saying that of the nine of us, she _always_ seems to be getting her own way. Why does she even want to hang out with Polly and Cori anyway?”

Dean had stopped eating and was watching the half of the conversation he was privy to with undisguised interest. 

“I'm guessing because she doesn't want to hang around with me and Perry.”

“It's the middle of the holiday season, things are a little crazy right now... do you think Little Miss Sunshine can hang on until the middle of January?” She stalked over to the table and took another swig of coffee.

“I don't...”

“Well, tell her I'll do it as long as she agrees to hang on at least that much longer. I'll write her up a little tutorial on how to keep track of the other part of the trio during the holidays. No way am I bailing on the two of them this early in December.”

“Fine.” Calliope sounded worn. “Thank you... and yes, it irritates me too that Tia can manipulate dad into doing whatever she wants.”

“Yeah, you think it'd be the ones who look like him who'd be able to do it. Oh wait, I'm forgetting our bossy little brother who does...” She said, slumping back down into the empty chair.

“Don't talk about Apollo like that. Besides, our step-mom likes you better than most of us.” She laughed. “I'll take care of the details.” Calliope hung up.

Melpomene turned off her phone and set it down on the table. “And the reason step-mommy Hera likes me is because I don't like daddy's indiscretions any more than she does.” She picked up a piece of bacon and started to munch on it.

Dean cleared his throat. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” She didn't look at him. “If Tia thinks she's moving to the party trio, she is sorely mistaken...” She finished the bacon and turned in the chair to pick up her fork. “This will be good, going to have to teach Cori how to not be so indifferent, but yeah.” 

“What's happening in February?” He took an large bite of egg. 

“Olympics in Vancouver...we go to every opening ceremony, summer and winter.” She said, going back to her own breakfast. “I'm just hoping we get to go to the one in London in four years...”


	10. Quiet Discoveries

Noah poured himself a second cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, watching the morning news and scrolling marquee of closed schools at the bottom, only paying attention the one that said classes were canceled at Georgetown and Our Lady of Mercy. Not that he would have tried to make it to campus today if classes _weren't_ canceled. There was a foot of snow on the ground and getting stuck in a snowbank wasn't on his list of ways to spend the day. After telling Wesley there wasn't any school, the boy had pulled his covers back over his head and muttered something about trying to get more sleep. That was two hours ago and now he could hear his son's footsteps on the stairs. “Morning.”

“Morning dad.” Wesley said grumpily. “Why can't we spend Christmas here?”

The man sighed. “It's part of the arrangement, Wes... your mom and I alternate holidays. We'll spend Christmas here next year.”

“I liked it better when we were all here.” He opened the cupboard and took out a box of Fruit Loops. 

“I know you did, son.” Noah took a sip from his mug. “But it's much better for you now that your mom and I not to be living together.”

Wesley rolled his eyes. “I know this lecture, dad. You and mom still love me very much and that's why you divorced so I wouldn't have to see you fighting all the time.” He got down a bowl and worked on making his breakfast.

“Wesley.” He said in reply, a touch of warning in his voice. “That's enough.”

He came over to the table, looking disgruntled. “So that means next year I'll spend Thanksgiving with her, right?”

“Yes.” Noah stood and went to fix himself some toast.

The boy munched on his cereal for a few minutes, watching his father. His parents had been officially divorced since January, but his mom was gone long before then. He knew that in most cases, the dad left and the mom stayed in the house. But not in the Levin household – because his mom had decided she was in love with someone other that his dad – and had packed her bags one night and gone to live in New York with him. Wesley always thought of Peter Randall as him no matter how many times he told Wesley to call him Peter. Maybe he wouldn't be so on edge if the man wasn't trying to be all – fatherly with him, as if Wes's dad wasn't a part of his life at all. He looked up as his dad came back to the table. “What are you going to do for Christmas then, dad? You're not going to stay here alone, are you?”

“'Course not.” He smiled. “I'm going to go see my sister and her family.”

That kicked the boy into full whine mode. “You're going to South Dakota?” True, it was the middle of nowhere, but his aunt Rachel was the world's best cook – not to mention his cousins had four-wheelers and a backyard the size of the National Mall. A trip to Sioux Falls was about the best possible place to take a vacation that the boy could think of – including Universal Studios. 

Noah gave him a tired look. “Don't worry, we're both invited out there for the Fourth of July.”

Still slightly annoyed, Wesley shoved a heaping spoonful of cereal into his mouth and chewed loudly.  
Deciding to overlook the bad table manners – Noah didn't blame him for being upset – he finished off his toast and went to get more coffee. “Well, seeing how I'm done with my grading and you did all your homework last night.... what do you say we get the tree out today?”

The boy looked up from his nearly empty bowl. “Okay.” He said, albeit half-heartedly. “Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“What's the Middleton Institute? The people who keep sending you stuff in the mail? Is it a school?”

Noah gave a him a half smile. “No, it's not a school. It's an organization that helps adopted children find their birth parents.”

Wesley frowned. “Why do you want to find your birth parents?” This somehow seemed like betraying his grandparents. “What's wrong with gran and paw-paw?”

“Nothing. I would just like to know a little bit about them... that's all.” He sighed and reached over to ruffle his son's hair. “Find out where the two of us got this mop of brown hair, for one.” 

“Daaaad....” He ducked out from under his father's hand and went to carry his bowl to the sink. “Do you think you can find them?”

“Maybe – I'm not going to devote a lot of time to it...” Noah said, carrying his plate over and turning off the coffee pot as Wesley put both of their dishes in the dishwasher.

“Dad...” the boy suddenly looked solemn. “Are you going to be able to make it alone on a flight all the way to Sioux Falls? You hate flying.”

“I'll be fine.” He steered the boy out of the kitchen and into the family room. “Let's get this room cleaned up a bit – no sense putting up the tree and then having to dust around it.”

“Sure dad.” Wesley started stacking up the newspapers. “Put all these in the recycle bin, right?”

“You got it.” Noah said, getting the vacuum cleaner from the hall closet. 

When Wesley came back, he found that his dad had turned the stereo on and it was currently playing some band he couldn't identify – but it sounded old. Rolling his eyes behind his father's back, he went to get a dust cloth – honestly, what kind of song title was Long John Silver anyway? Long John Silvers was a fast-food restaurant, not some weird pirate with a talking parrot. But it was dad's cleaning music – and he'd probably change it to some awful Christmas music when they got the tree down – well, okay, it wasn't all bad. As long as there was plenty of Trans-Siberian Orchestra and no Mannheim Steamroller.

***

Whereas the weather in Ohio was bitterly cold and snowy, Wednesday was proving to be mild by comparison in South Dakota. Sam and Heather had tramped their way to the far side of the salvage yard, opposite from the entrance, where there was a passageway between the tall wooden fence on one side of the yard and a long outbuilding that was badly in need of a coat of paint. Sam remembered it from four years ago – Dean had rebuilt the Impala on the other side of it. Although it was still cold, they were out of the wind. Even the snow here had been scoured away, revealing the frozen earth, where brown grass vied with gravel for space. Sam had painted a target on a metal sign and stuck it into the ground, shoving it into the hard dirt an inch so that it would stand on his own. 

Heather rubbed her nose as he loaded the Glock they'd borrowed from Bobby. “Is this one of those things that's easier than it sounds?”

“Pretty much.” He came over and stood next to her. “You know what the sight is, right?”

“Yeah.” She watched him as he narrowed his eyes for the briefest of moments and then he fired the gun – three shots straight into the center of the target. “Wow. That's really... loud.” 

“Here.” He handed her the gun and then stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder and he used his other to steady hers. “Now make sure you let your whole arm absorb the recoil, not just your wrist.”

“Okay.” She swallowed. “Count to three?”

“Three heartbeats, that's right.” He stepped back a pace. 

Resisting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, she counted to three and then – the jolt in her arm nearly knocked her back as she fired. Out of the three shots she took, one missed the board completely, another hit just below the edge and the final, just inside the first ring. “Ouch...” She winced as Sam came back over and took the weapon from her.

“Nothing broken?”

“I don't think so...” She rubbed her shoulder. “Just a little...”

He studied the target. “That's actually not bad for a first try...” He gave her an encouraging smile. “It just takes practice.” He handed the gun back to her. “Try again.”

She took a deep breath and aimed again. This time when she fired, she managed to absorb the recoil better and four shots went into the board in a crooked line along the top of the painted target. 

“Not bad.” He took the gun back again. “Your arm okay?”

“I think so... I wouldn't count on it not hurting tomorrow morning.”

“Nothing that a few aspirin can't cure.” He ruffled her hair. “And if the weather's bad, there's plenty of stuff to do inside.”

“Like what?”

“Research...” He worked on changing the gun clip. “Things like that.” He looked up. “Guns don't work on everything...” He frowned. “Unfortunately, the more dangerous something is, usually the closer you tend to have to get to it.”

“I don't suppose you can tell me why the demon came out Mr. Babcock when Beth slammed that fishbowl into him, can you?”

“No...” He thought for a moment. “Wait... that shouldn't...was it a salt water fish?”

“Yeah... I don't remember what kind it was though.”

“That might explain it. Salt is pretty much an all purpose deterrent against monsters.” He finished loading the gun. “I don't suppose you know how to pick a lock.”

“Depends on the kind...” Heather grinned and glanced sideways. 

“I know that look.” He smiled in response. 

“You know those child safety locks they put on doors and baby gates?”

He nodded. “Those are pretty easy to open.”

“Not when you're fourteen months...” She rubbed the back of her head, not sure if she should be embarrassed or proud. “Mom had to put around three locks on gate next to the stairs...but I kept figuring out how to open them.” She started to chuckle. “Or so I was told... she eventually just put a bell on the gate itself.. so she or whoever was watching me could come stop me.”

“That's...” He shook his head. “We'll see if you remember any of those skills.” He handed her the gun. “Have another go.”

*

An hour and thirty rounds later, the metal sign was riddled with bullet holes. It was not until the last five rounds that Heather had gotten any of kind of consistency in where she hit and it was not until the last two that she managed to hit the center of the target. She and Sam gathered all the shell casings and slugs into two separate buckets. 

“How's your arm?”

“I'll let you know in the morning.” Heather said in reply. “Though I think I may be fine just as soon as my ears stop ringing.”

“Yeah, that takes getting used to.” Sam shifted the bucket he was carrying. “Might have get some earplugs.” He rubbed his nose. “But for a beginner, you're doing pretty well.”

“Thanks.” She coughed. “What exactly are we doing to do with the slugs? Make more bullets?”

“Exactly.” He replied. “Not for the same gun, of course – but for others – the same is true for the casings.”

“You mean like in that movie, _The Monster Squad_ where the guy makes the silver bullets and wooden stakes in shop class?”

He gave her a surprised look. “You've seen that?”

“Yeah... though I've got a feeling that wooden stakes probably aren't what you need to kill a vampire.”

“No, you have to cut their heads off.” He said flatly. “But thankfully, that can be done with any implement that can do the task – you don't have to worry about carrying around a sword that's half silver, or what have you.”

“Chainsaw.” She shifted the bucket she was holding from one hand to the other. 

“Those would work too... though it would be very messy.”

“I don't think there's a neat method of cutting a head off – unless it's a lightsaber.”

“Shame those aren't real...” He shrugged. “Though it's probably best there isn't.... a lot of Star Wars fans would probably be missing a few limbs.” They climbed the ramp up to Bobby's house and let themselves inside. 

*

Sam turned Heather's hand over with both of his, holding it palm up and grasping her thumb and pinkie finger. “Now you're going to have to hold still while I do this, okay?”

She nodded in response. “Uh huh.” She found herself unable to look away from the twenty even black stitches some doctor in Jasper had used to seal the wound the demon had given her. She'd assumed that a doctor would be the one to take them out, but with all that happened in the past few weeks, it's not like she should be so damn surprised. “I guess I'm going to have to come up with a story to go with the scar... since I can't really tell people a demon tried to kill me.”

He nodded and held the pair of tweezers to the flame of the candle. “I don't think to many people will notice it – as you can cover it with a watch band.”

“True.” She bit her lip as he started to work the hot metal of the tweezers under the first stitch.

“I'm not hurting you, am I?” He gently tugged the first knot loose.

“The metal's hot.” She finally managed to look away and focused on the floorboards. “I take it you've done this a lot...”

“Yeah.” Sam started on the second stitch. “I've had to sew up my own wounds a few times too...”

“Yikes.” 

“It's not so bad, once you know what you're doing.” He tugged the next knot free. “You ever had stitches removed before?”

“Yeah.” She looked up. “I didn't like it the last time either.”

He went to work on the fourth knot. “Is that where the scar here on your arm came from?” He could feel the edge of a jagged patch of skin under his fingers. 

“Uh huh.” She managed a weak smile as he pulled out another knot. “Ever had a compound fracture before?”

He looked up. “No, I've managed to avoid that.”

“Good – you don't want one.” She let out a breath as he clipped away the long thread he'd undone and started on another section. “At least it was my arm and not my leg.... and I didn't break it until August... so I at least got to do some swimming.”

Glad to have a subject to keep her occupied, Sam tugged gently at another knot before asking his next question. “You like to swim?”

“I love swimming.” She grinned. “Of all the sport, physical fitness whatever you want to call it that I can do, swimming is by far my favorite.”

“Why?” He worked the ninth suture free. 

“You'd probably laugh if I told you...” She looked away, feeling her cheeks turn slightly pink.

“Try me.” He inwardly felt rather bad that he was sitting here getting to know Heather while Dean was stuck in Ohio. Well, it wasn't as if he wouldn't find out eventually... but the concept that the person who should be sitting here wasn't made it seem a little – awkward.

“I love to swim because I think it's the closest mankind will ever get to flying under their own physical power.” She went slightly more red. “I know, that probably sounds silly....”

Sam paused halfway through the eleventh stitch and looked up. “No, no it doesn't. You might actually have a point there.” He went back to work. “So a few days ago you mentioned the _Pendragon_ series. What's that about?” He figured it was better to keep her distracted as he worked.

Heather thought for a moment. “In general, it's about this group of people called the Travelers who are trying to stop Saint Dane from destroying Halla.”

“And Halla is what exactly?”

“All that ever is, was or will be. Basically it's like the entire universe and every alternate reality in the universe too.”

“That's no small task.” He pulled out the twelfth stitch. 

**

Castiel still didn't like the arrangement that Polyhymnia had set up with her older sister. True, of all nine Muses, Clio was unquestionably the most trustworthy. She'd been the one to get in the least amount of trouble with the angels, did the best job of staying out of their way – and, if all pagan gods acted like her, there would probably be a lot fewer problems with them. It was the perfection that worried him. Most creatures like her would balk at the idea of helping him – the fact that she was going to be helping him - if he needed it – him, a rogue angel... that was just asking to be punished. He supposed he should have known something like this would happen. The only reason he had asked Polyhymnia in the first place was the fact that she was the only one who didn't seem to fear the wrath of Heaven. Quite stupid of her to be that way.

He leaned against the iron railing of the bridge, staring into the raging river far below him. Something else started to nudge at the back of his mind. The conversation he had overheard while on Olympus – he was assuming that Erato hadn't known about Heather until a few days ago. Hell, Melpomene had admitted that only her most trusted sisters had known – along with her father. But she'd passively mentioned that there were others who had known, but she was forbidden to tell who.

_“Castiel?”_

The voice was weak, almost inaudible in the back of his mind that he swore he must have imagined it.

_“Castiel?”_

It was slightly louder, but no stronger. He'd not heard the voice in so long, he swore that he'd never hear it again. Clutching the railing in both hands, he closed his eyes and answer what he heard, scarcely believing it. _“Jimmy?”_ There was a feeling of something deep in his mind stretching, slowly coming back into being. It was not grace, but more of the way life stirs in a tree that had been sleeping all winter and awakens at the first promise of spring.

_“Castiel, what's going on? What happened? I remember...a lot of light... and then...oblivion.”_

The angel opened his eyes, gazing back down into the river. He couldn't find the words to answer his vessel and for him to not panic – he knew that the man deep inside him could not read his thoughts or emotions. He let out a breath. _“Things have changed... James. Things have changed.”_

Trapped in his own mind, in some far corner that he'd created when he was six years old, his own little safe haven, the human known as Jimmy Novak found himself standing up, trying to keep calm. “ _Did you just call me James? No one ever.... no one's called me that in...”_

 _“Years, I know.”_ Castiel pulled away from the railing and started forward, heading down towards the village whose name he couldn't recall – he just knew he was somewhere in Armenia.

 _“We didn't make it in time, did we? The Last Seal was broken.”_ There was despair in his voice. 

_“No, we didn't. We were lied to, James. The others wanted the Apocalypse.”_

_“How bad is it?”_ His voice was starting to get weaker again.

 _“Very...are you all right?”_ He swallowed hard as he heard an almost inaudible cough in the back of his mind.

 _“I'm worried about Ames and Claire.”_ This was the truth. Jimmy Novak could care less what happened to him or Castiel – since technically, they were one in the same. As long as his wife and daughter were safe, he would be content.

_“They are safe. I do not believe what has happened to us will affect them.”_

When his vessel spoke again, it was so faint, he had to strain to hear it. _“As long as they stay safe...”_ Jimmy's voice broke off into a fading litany that almost sounded like a plea – the angel recognized the words of the Beatitudes as he came into the town proper. He wished he could give the man more reassurance than he did, but there was no way of knowing how all of this would end. He had truly thought that Jimmy – James – was already in Heaven - sent there when Raphael struck him down. 

Now he knew – he wasn't alone in this body – it wasn't his body to begin with... the man who'd consented to be his vessel was still here – and the warm feeling from earlier became a little stronger. 

**

It was ten at night when Dean and Melpomene left Columbus. The snow had quit at five and the lot had been plowed two hours later. The highway was mostly clear – but with patches of snow and black ice, what few cars and trucks that were braving the night were moving under fifty miles an hour instead of seventy. Dean didn't care if they had to go thirty – he wanted to get back to South Dakota as soon as possible. He'd spent half the day sleeping and the other half watching television. He'd left a message with Sam that he was on his way back, this time estimating his arrival to hopefully be around noon. He had a feeling that Melpomene had things she wanted to get back to doing. “Can I ask you something?”

“Have I said no to that question yet?” She replied, keeping her gaze directly out in front of her.

He rolled his eyes. “Smart-ass.” He said under his breath before continuing. “You said you're not omnipotent.”

“That's correct.” She blinked and turned her gaze down to her hands. 

“But I take it that doesn't mean you don't know plenty about how things are playing out.” He gave her a sideways glance.

She closed her eyes as if she was in pain before she spoke. “More than I wish I did.” She turned her head towards the window. “And I've been in on it for a long time.”

“How long?”

“You _really_ don't want me to answer that. Believe me.”

“I think I can handle it.” He replied as he moved over into the far lane as an eighteen wheeler came barreling onto the roadway.

She rubbed her eyes, her face drawn in pain. “I would estimate it to be around the year two hundred – but my role wasn't very active in it until oh, about a thousand years after that.”

“Shit.” He struggled to keep the car straight. “It's been planned that far back?”

“Dean, this plan is so bloody huge and so complex, that Clio's convincing Columbus to sail west to find the East is a part of it.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” She shifted in her seat.

Dean was about to reply when his cell phone rang. Slowing down slightly so he could answer it and still manage to drive, he checked the ID before flipping the phone open. “Cas?”

“We need to talk. Where are you?”

“One second.” He looked over at the Muse. “What's the last mile marker we passed?”

“Two-fifty four.” She said in a flat tone.

“We're just past the two-five-four westbound mile marker in Indiana on...” He stopped as he heard a fluttering sound and then saw Castiel in the backseat. “You okay Cas?”

“I'm fine.” The angel shifted his gaze to the Muse for a second before turning back to Dean. “You have the Colt?”

“It's in my coat pocket.” He glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. “How's your search going?”  
“Nowhere.” He replied and then turned towards Melpomene. “Do you know why Polyhymnia would have sent Clio instead of you to help me?”

Slowly, she turned around in her seat to look directly at him. “You asked Polly to help you find God?”  
There was something in her tone that immediately raised alarm in the angel. “Why is that a problem?”

“Polly is the last one of the nine you should ask for that kind of help! Or any kind of help if you're outside of our pantheon.” She looked at Dean and saw an equally shocked look on his face. “She doesn't care who wins this final battle... because she's the only one of us who Lucifer wouldn't chain up!” She covered her eyes. “If she sent Clio to help you, that alone should have told you something!”

“What's the deal with Clio?” Dean interjected.

“It means that Polly has been forced to return to her neutrality...either that or...” She cursed under breath and spread her fingers, still staring at Castiel. “My sister is still one of my closest friends... but half of that is because I've been trying to keep her from getting to deep in either side... I'm not so much her sister as I am her minder.” She turned back around. “I can ask her to make the arrangement with Clio permanent... Clio at least cares who wins.”

“Don't you all live regardless of how the Apocalypse turns out?” Dean said, struggling to keep the Impala in their lane, his hands were starting to shake.

“Depends on your definition of living.” She closed her eyes again and cursed softly under her breath.

“So why did you send Polly to South Dakota in the first place?” 

“Because I couldn't and I knew Castiel wouldn't listen to Cori.” Her voice was shaky when she spoke.

Castiel looked down for a moment and focused on the road in front of them. “Why can you pagan gods not keep to a standard set of rules?”

“I don't know, why do the majority of you angels have to be self-righteous assholes?” She pulled her hands up to her face as if she was going to sneeze and then, in an instant, vanished. 

It was Dean's turn to curse. “She had a point there, Cas.”

The angel said nothing as he slid to sit behind the driver's seat, settling into the well worn leather, looking almost as tired as he felt. “I know she did.” He said softly. “I...” He leaned against the window, staring blankly ahead. “This has been... a very... strange day.”

He glanced in the rear-view at him. “What do you mean?”

The angel swallowed. “Jimmy Novak is still alive...”

“The guy you're possessing? I thought he died when...”

“So did I.” Castiel looked down at his hands, opening and closing them slowly. “I do not think he may remain so... I believe he will die when what is left of my grace vanishes.”

“Why don't you rest for a while...” He gently pushed the cassette that was sitting primed in the player in. “Looks like you could use it.” A moment later, the sounds of Metallica's 'Wherever I May Roam' filled the car. He focused on driving and didn't notice when the angel actually drifted off to sleep shortly afterwards.

**

In the dark family room of the Levin house, the Christmas tree stood out, dominating the bay window on the far side. Even though the lights were not on and the house was still, the untouched snow reflected the moonlight back into the house, giving some of the ornaments an ethereal glow. A figure stood, just in the shadows, watching as the faint stream of air caused by the furnace caused the bright baubles to move slowly from where they hung. Silently the figure moved forward to the tree and a transparent finger reached out and slid through an ornament made of wood sticks, paper and paint – the handiwork of the child sleeping upstairs – back when the child had been half the age he was now. The figure supposed it was meant to be a dragonfly.

The insect swung back and forth at his touch and the figure smiled. He was not in pain, he was not angry, he wasn't even trapped – not entirely. He was the oldest. It was his place to worry – and this place – this land had once been his home. He'd not been back here in nearly seventy years – not since...  
He pulled back from the tree and looked over the other glittering ornaments. He meant no harm to the family in the house – maybe, just maybe – one of them would try to talk to him. No one had ever tried.  
He didn't like being back here, away from his place in Heaven... his own private Heaven where he hunted rabbits with his father and went fishing with friends in a pond that was long gone – maybe not some people's version of paradise, to be certain – but it was his and he missed it.

The figure faded out as the low drone of a snow plow went down the unseen road, clearing the streets so that tomorrow, life could go on as normal. But the worry remained. It was starting again. 

**

 _“Heather.”_ The voice was calm but insistent. “ _Heather Grace, wake up.”_

She turned over in bed, pushing the covers off of her head and squinted her eyes, trying to see who was speaking to her. “What time is it?” She sat up, rubbing her face, glad that whoever was talking to her had turned on the light before she opened her eyes. That's when she realized that the light in the room was much brighter than it should be. The lamp on the dresser and ceiling light combined didn't give off half the light that seemed to fill the room. “I'm dreaming.”

“That's right.” The voice said again and then she saw the speaker, leaning against the far side of the dresser, watching her. “You are dreaming.”

She lowered her hands and blinked. Her gaze started at the floor and she slowly raised them, going past where the man's head ended and looking higher and as soon as they nearly reached the ceiling, she bolted backwards toward the corner of the bed, wincing as she felt her back collide with the bedpost and wall. “Who...”

“Don't be afraid.” He stepped away from the dresser, moving to sit on the foot of the bed. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

Heather still didn't back away from the corner she'd wedged herself into. “Uh... uh...” She swallowed. “Okay, I know you're not the guy who plays Charlie Epps on _Numb3rs,_ so who in Halla are you?”

He smiled at her words. “A Winchester who tries not to curse...quite the pleasant change.” He held up his hand as he saw she was about to speak again. “I know, I know – your last name is Kittredge, but you're still a Winchester.” He looked down at his hands as if they were totally foreign to him. “As for why I look like the professor from that television program... well, I felt showing up as that young man who plays Edmund in the Narnia films would be inappropriate.”

Heather went pink with embarrassment and covered her mouth with her hands. “How did you...”

“Shh...” He held a finger to his lips. “That's not important. I just want to talk to you for a moment.” 

“You're Michael, aren't you?”

“Yes.” He smiled again. “I know that you're keeping silent... because you're afraid they won't listen to you.”

“I'm a kid.” She slowly uncurled from her position. “I know they're not going to listen to me.”

Michael stood and started to walk the length of the room. “Oh, I know they won't. Not directly.” He stopped and set a hand on the wall above the light switch. “I also know you can think of a way to make them listen without speaking a word.” He bent down and picked up the stuffed bear where it had fallen to the floor. “All I'm asking of you is to not be afraid.”

“I can't promise that...” The fact that she was talking to an archangel alone was scary in its own right.

“Just try not to be afraid.” He handed the bear to her. “Find a way to make them listen.” He brushed his hand over her forehead, sending Heather into deeper sleep. “And no matter what the tell you, don't let them kill your faith.”

**

Dean arrived back in South Dakota shortly after two in the afternoon. The last time he had driven so many hours straight, he'd collapsed into a hotel room in Kansas City and then been subjected to a mind-fuck courtesy of Zachariah. His plan was to sleep for three hours, eat something – and then sleep again for as long as his body and brain would allow. Although he wasn't really counting on being able to go sleep right after dinner. If all else failed, he'd sleep in the passenger seat when he and Sam left. Yawning, he slammed the door of the Impala shut and headed for the trunk to get his bag. He was nearly there when a wet thump echoed through the salvage yard. He turned around quickly, trying to find it's source when the sound was repeated, though not as loud as the first time. “What the hell?” He moved away from the car, heading towards the noise. It didn't sound dangerous, but it was repeating itself enough to warrant an investigation. 

He came around the side of a tower of junked cars and found Heather standing several yards away. The sound was snowballs hitting the large piece of sheet metal. Given that her ears were looking red and the face white, he knew she'd been outside for a while. “Aren't you cold?” He also noted that she wasn't wearing gloves.

Heather glanced at him before picking up another handful of snow and molding it into a ball. “Yeah.” 

“How long have you been out here?” He stuck his own hands in his pockets, stepping closer to her.

“A while.” She threw the ball. “Long enough to clean off a few cars worth of snow.”

“Does Sam know you're out here?” 

“Uh huh.” She picked up another handful of snow. “He asked me to come in and eat something...” She looked at her watch. “Two hours ago.”

“You've been out here, doing that...” He nodded as another ball slammed into the sheet metal. “For two hours?”

“Four, actually.” She sniffled and rubbed her nose. “I took my gloves off when they got to wet.”

“I think you probably should get inside before you get sick.” He replied as another snowball splattered against the makeshift target. “Or freeze...you look to be about halfway there.” 

“Sam came out and gave me this exact same speech.” She leaned back against a car that she'd been scrapping snow off of and folded her arms. 

“Well, he's right.” He winced as the wind stung his face. “This cold doesn't bother you?”

“Oh, it does.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I'll just be out here a little while longer. I am kind of hungry.”

“I don't mean to pry or anything, but is this a female thing?”

“No, it's not that.” Heather rolled her eyes. “If it was, I probably wouldn't have gotten up today.”

“That's enough on that...” He was silently thankful that certain things were already handled in terms of puberty with her. “So how long...” He was cut off as she smashed a large snowball on the top of his head. 

“I'm ready to go in now.” She picked up her sodden gloves and headed towards the house.

Dean brushed the snow off the top of his head and followed her. “Have you been waiting out here in the freezing cold just to do that?”

“Yeah.” She didn't turn around. 

“That's a little OCD, isn't it?” He stopped at the Impala to get his bag. 

“Well, I knew I'd more likely hit the car instead you if I waited in the window of my room.” She turned around at the foot of the ramp. “I figured I'd be in less trouble for hitting you than the car.” She shrugged her shoulders and headed inside. 

He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that argument (as he knew very well she had a point) as he slammed the trunk lid shut and followed her into Bobby's house. 

*

Dean went almost straight to sleep and ended up sleeping to almost eleven. He supposed it was hunger, more than anything that disturbed his rest and sent him downstairs to the kitchen. Sam must have taken up residence in the last bedroom, as the couch in the main room was unoccupied. The overhead light in the kitchen was on, expecting to find Bobby, he was surprised to find Heather. “You're not packing another snowball, are you?”

“No.” She didn't look up from her sketchbook. “I've engaged in enough meteorological warfare for the week.”

He chuckled and went to the fridge and took out container of some kind of leftovers. “How you holding up?”

“About as good as can be expected.” She picked up the gum eraser that was lying next to her and attacked a section of her drawing. “How was your trip?”

“Fine.” He left it at that as he dished out a serving of the casserole onto a plate and stuck it in the microwave. “See Sam took your stitches out.” He took a beer from the fridge as he put the container back in. “When did everyone else go to sleep?”

“Sam went upstairs shortly before ten – because that's when I came down – Uncle Bobby went to bed after the ten o'clock news was over.” She gently brushed the eraser shavings off the paper and picked up her pencil again. “I've come to the conclusion that the only difference between the news here in South Dakota and the news in Indiana is that here the news is full of car wrecks and back there, it's all homicides.”

The microwave dinged and Dean grabbed a fork before removing the plate and having a seat at the other end of the table. “The news is gruesome no matter where you go. Is it snowing again?”

“That's not snow out there, it's freezing rain. Which is worse.” She looked up. “Sam moved the car so it'd be under something for the night – otherwise, you'd have to clean an inch of ice off of it in the morning.”

He took a large bite of food before answering. “Don't know if we're going anywhere tomorrow.” 

“Well, I think it was a matter of just in case, or something.” She rubbed at the drawing, working on a patch of shading. 

“I'm sorry we have to keep you here at Bobby's... he can wear you out after a while.” He took a swig from the beer bottle.

“Well, it beats being in Palm Beach with crazy Aunt Shelley or having to go stay with Uncle Tobias and Aunt Iris – which wouldn't be bad, but that'd mean I'd have to be around my cousin Alex.” She clenched her teeth. “And Alex drives me nuts.” 

He arched an eyebrow at her response. “How's he do that?”

“Because he is the most arrogant, trumped up...augh...” She shuddered. “This isn't a boys having cooties thing...this...” She folded her arms and sat back. “He's just plain mean. I think he spent a little to much time with Grandpa Langley as a toddler and it rubbed off on him.”

“What do you mean by that?” He took another bite of casserole. He figured Langley was Sarah Kittredge's maiden name.

“The trouble is all the cousins on mom's side of the family are really competitive and well, since I'm last in line, I basically have no chance of catching up to anyone but Alex – since we're only six months apart in age. So of course, he doesn't like me anymore than I like him.”

Dean took a sip from his beer. “Somehow I don't see you being competitive.”

She folded her arms and set them on the table. “When you're an only child, you're not used to competition. Like most of the kids like me, I'm a perfectionist – doubly so, since I'm part Virgo... and when you're part Libra as well...” She went back to her sketching. “Feet are on the ground, head is in the clouds... it's driven a few teachers crazy.”

He chuckled in response. “I'll bet.” He went back to eating his dinner. “We'll get you back in school in January.” He chewed thoughtfully. “That will at least get you out of the house a few hours a day.”

“It'll be a change to go to a school where the entire staff doesn't know who your parents are.” She set the pencil down and sat back. “Sometimes I think that's why dad switched to elementary school... being the kid of a principal is one thing... being in the same school where your dad is principal... well, that's just...” She pushed the sketchbook away. “I guess that doesn't matter much anymore.” She set her arms on the table and looked down. 

Dean stood, dragged his chair around to the other side of the table and sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder in a one armed hug. He set his chin on the top of her head, knowing all to well that telling her things would work out, things would be fine – would be worthless. He squeezed her again when she sniffled. “You do know that no one expects you to get through this alone.”

She sniffled. “I know. Seems like it sometimes though.” 

For lack of words, he reached over and pulled the sketchbook closer to them and started flipping through it. “Sam was right... you are a pretty good artist.”

“Thanks.” She didn't look up and right now, she really didn't want to move. 

“Really...” He stopped when he came to the picture of Castiel. Something in his mind faintly clicked –a memory that had been scrubbed clean with his resurrection. He can remember now – screams of the souls of the damned changing in tone – the torturers leaving their victims to race towards something charging forward. He can hear Alistair's voice shouting at him, shouting at other demons – the strange green and red haze of hell starting to recede as the source came closer to him. The razor in his hand fell to a floor so soaked in blood and gore, it could never be clean. It probably had never been clean. In the brilliance, he could just barely make out a single detail of the figure racing towards him. The eyes – the blazing blue eyes alive with holy fire and righteousness. A searing pain that went up his arm and he can remember rising from the blackness, racing out of hell with a speed that would make light seem slow – and then came the blackness of that coffin in Pontiac, Illinois. 

Dean remembered the hell hounds attacking him – he can remember what happened in Hell – and now, now he can remember the way he left. Pamela Barnes had merely glimpsed at Cas and gotten her eyes burned out. He'd never wanted to ask the angel exactly what he looked like – but he'd seen his wingspan – and that told him it was nothing to be taken lightly. He didn't want to know how it was that Heather could see him and keep her eyesight – Melpomene had stated only her and two other sisters had children who could do that. How that came about – that wasn't important or even who the other two were. “Say Heather...” He pulled his arm from her and picked up the sketchbook, studying with unabashed interest and he wasn't sure what he was more in awe of – at what Cas looked like or the girl's ability to capture him. 

“Yeah?” She pulled away, rubbing at her tear stained cheeks. 

“Could I... can I have this picture?” He scanned the image again and throughout, he could see the tiny shades of barely there gray – gray that should be white – parts of Castiel that were darkening from his incredible being as his grace diminished. 

“Sure.” She shrugged. “I was thinking of doing another one anyway...” 

He turned towards her, giving her an encouraging smile. “You'll let me see that one too, right?”

“Not a problem.” She rubbed the back of her head, looking at the drawing. “I'll tell you this too... Crayola does not have the colors to do that angel justice... or probably any angel..”


	11. Great Wide Open World

The rest of December seemed to fly past, compared to the first week. Perhaps it was less waiting around and more action that made it so. Although Dean did hope that the hunt that had taken him and Sam to San Francisco was a done deal – and that the Heart of the Dragon – the one monster both their grandparents and parents tried to vanquish was finally gone. He knew that if it wasn't – in twenty years, Heather would probably be pretty pissed if it took _four_ generations of hunters to finish the damn thing off. Castiel had said that since the summoner was dead – and had no descendants, it should be. Now he and Sam were back on what he liked to think of as a 'good old-fashioned monster hunt' in Alabama. It almost felt strange, to be going after an every day run of the mill monster instead of demons, the devil or both.

Neither of the brothers were exactly sure on how many shape-shifters they'd taken out in their life – and just like humans, they all brought new surprises in their modus operandi. Some were just bloodthirsty, some even wanted attention. But regardless of how they behaved – they all needed to end up the same way. Dead. Dean had first seen their father kill a shape-shifter when he was four years old and hadn't understood at that age just what was going on. He tiredly unwrapped one of the burgers he and Sam had picked up for their very late dinner. If it hadn't been just after one in the morning, the two of them would be on the road to their next case. “You okay Sammy?” He looked over at his brother who was icing his shoulder.

“Yeah.” He grunted in response. “I'm just glad it's in one piece. You?”

Dean shifted his own ice pack that was perched on his knee. “Don't think I'll be running a marathon any time soon.” He leaned back against the headboard. “Little food, little rest, I'll be back to normal.”

Sam went stood and walked over to the other bed, wrapped burger in his free hand. “Sounds about right.” He slumped down. “You heard from Jo and Ellen?”

“Yeah. Ellen said they're trailing a demon up in Maine. I asked if she needed any help – and got one of her standard lectures.” He took a large bite of his sandwich. 

“Well, that's Ellen for you.” He set his ice pack down. “What about Jo?”

“Didn't talk to Jo – she was getting dinner when I called.” He set his half eaten meal aside and rubbed his eyes. “I think I'm to tired to even eat.”

“Same here.” Sam had taken one bite of his burger before setting it on the table between the two beds. “You still want to head to Texas tomorrow?”

“Yeah. The signs all point to a werewolf and if we can get the damn thing before the next full moon on New Years Eve, all the better.” He shifted so he was lying down, adjusting the ice again. “I think the Blue Moon this month is just bringing the monsters out in droves – and the solstice doesn't help matters either.”

Sam leaned over and clicked out the lamp, groaning as he pulled back. “You think the demons are going to try and raise Famine again week after next?”

“Possibly.” He said in response. “Though I doubt they'll try and do it here in the States – probably some place like Japan or China where the population is high enough or something.”

“Think Bobby knows any hunters in Japan he can warn about it?”

“I don't think so.” He stuffed a pillow under his chin, already half asleep. 

*

Dean would later reflect that night to probably one of the worst night's sleep he had ever gotten. Normally, the only angel who ever occasionally poked into his dreams was Castiel – and even then, it was only on an emergency basis. What he hadn't counted on was Anna showing up – a rather pleasant dream turned very awkward. When he told Castiel about meeting her somewhere, he'd instantly stated he would go instead – telling the brothers that it might be a trap. He'd wanted to override the angel's objection – but Cas had vanished before he could argue. Of course, this put a delay on leaving for Texas, at least for a day, maybe two – and Sam had to call Bobby with the news that their making it back for Christmas was looking to be less possible and more unlikely. However, being there on New Years was going to be a definite – unless anything major prevented it. 

When Cas returned, he didn't say much as he started to work on a spell to locate Anna, only that the angel had stated that Sam had to die. He was only half listening to the conversation the brothers were having with him – he knew that if Anna had gone back to the past when she'd vanished from the warehouse he'd met her at, it would make reaching her all the more difficult. He might be able to get back to wherever – but fighting his former superior, killing her and managing to get back in one piece – not an easy task by any means. 

He dropped the last component into the bronze dish, hoping the other angel had at least stayed in this year – or at the very least, this decade. He squeezed his eyes shut and stepped backwards. Time flew past his shut lids with all the speed of light – the history of the years thrown into reverse – back past the turn of the millennium, racing through a decade that had been when the Winchester brothers where in adolescence – back past their childhood – and stop. “Found her.”

“Where?” Sam asked.

“Not where, when...” He turned and looked at the two of them, knowing that they'd they insist on coming – knowing that he'd have no chance of convincing them otherwise. As much as he hated to do it, he knew that they would need some help - at least getting back to nineteen seventy-eight.

*

The knock on the motel door was so soft, if he hadn't been standing right next to it, Sam probably wouldn't have heard it. “You think that's her?” 

“Yes.” Castiel said, taking a breath. “She said she would be here as soon as possible. It has been seven minutes.”

The knock sounded again, louder this time. “I don't like this Cas...” Dean said as Sam opened the door.   
“I may be able to get us back to the correct time to stop Anna – but I do not believe I will be able to return us to the present.” He straightened up as Sam stepped aside to let a short woman into the room. “Hello, Clio.” The only difference he noticed from the last time he'd seen her was that she was now wearing a light brown leather coat, instead of her standard one of blue. But the flowered pin was still attached to the lapel.

“Good morning, Castiel.” The muse of History stuck her hands into her pockets, looking at the other two occupants. “And the Winchester Brothers...” She smiled faintly as the door was shut behind her. “This... looks bad.”

“Anna has gone back to nineteen seventy-eight to try and kill Mary and John Winchester.” Castiel knew that time was already being wasted. “I need you to take the brothers back and stop her.”

“Anna?” Something in her voice changed. “Your former superior Anna?” Her eyebrows raised. “Do we bring her back alive or dead?” 

Dean blinked less at her words and more at her tone. “You know her?”

“When it comes to angels, she's pretty high on my list of least favorites.” She came further into the room. “When and where in seventy-eight – it's a big world and a long year.”

“Lawrence, Kansas – the thirty-first of May.” Castiel replied. “As for Anna... you need to kill her.”

“Are you just trying to make my week even better than it already is?” She took a deep breath. “Do we need to be back here at a certain time?” 

“When the task is over... try and come back to as close as when you left.” The angel looked from one brother to the other. “Less chance of being missed.”

“Not a problem.” She nodded as the brothers started putting weapons into a sack. “Oh, one thing on that...” She held up a hand.

“What?”

“Since we're fighting angels, no need to worry about guns... but your cell phones, your pagers, I-pods, stuff like that, leave them here.”

“Why?” Sam asked as they added the jug of holy oil to the bag.

“Well, for one – the phones won't work... and secondly – there's the risk of losing something like that... all it's going to take is for you to forget it at a diner and for some little engineering student at Kansas University to find it. We get back here and there's been a technological apocalypse on top of the actual one... I mean, you did see _Back to the Future Part Two_ , right?”

“What'd you put in your coffee this morning?” Dean muttered under his breath, finding the Muse's chipper behavior to be borderline annoying.

“I found the next Ken Burns yesterday...it's taken me _thirteen_ years to find them and now Castiel tells me I get to help kill the bitch who put me in chains for twenty years for not getting clearance on the finding of the Rosetta Stone. For me, Saturnalia has come early!” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling. “Anything else I need to know?” She took a look into both bags, memorizing the contents.

“Do you spend a lot of time with an angel named Gabriel?” Sam asked – the personalities of the two seemed oddly similar.

“I try to avoid archangels...” She sighed. “I believe we're wasting time here.” She took Sam's hand with her left and Dean's with her right. “This might pinch a little...” 

“Bend your knees.” Dean advised his younger brother as they were hauled back in time. Unlike the times when Cas had zapped him, this wasn't as instantaneous but the landing was a lot smoother. They all fell backwards against a wall in an alley with a thump. He coughed. “We make it?”

Clio shook her head to clear it. “I'd say most likely... you have everything?” She pushed her hair out of her face. 

“Yeah...” Sam checked his bag. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She set her hands on either side of her head and blinked a few times. “Good thing I know where I am right now so I don't have to worry about running into myself Always takes a minute to get reorientated.” She nodded towards the street and they headed that way. “You go find your parents – I'll go locate Anna.” 

**

Thirty one years in the future, Castiel sat down at the table in the motel room. He was hoping that they would all reappear five minutes after they left – he trusted the Muse enough that she would bring them back soon. But as five became ten and ten became twenty, he leaned forward, resting arms on his legs, hating the waiting almost as much as the fact that he'd had to stay behind. He knew that Anna had to have been lying when she said she escaped. One didn't just _escape_ Heaven anymore than anyone just escaped Hell. Someone had let her out. He doubted it was Michael. If Michael wanted Sam dead ahead of his schedule, he'd just smite the man where he stood with a bolt of lightning. Zachariah seemed to be the more likely candidate. 

For lack of nothing better to do and unable to just sit – nervousness was another new feeling that the angel absolutely hated – he started to clean up from his tracking ritual, which unfortunately didn't take very long. Just enough to let ten more minutes pass by. As he tossed the last of the contents into the trash, he heard the rattle of the cleaning lady's cart pause outside the room, no doubt reading the 'do not disturb' sign. A moment later, the clatter continued onward and went into the next room. Two minutes later, he could hear the woman singing in an off-key voice. He wasn't to worried about someone coming in here anytime soon. Dean had gone and bought two more nights on the room for 'just in case' purposes. Letting out a breath, the angel sat back down and inadvertently knocked over a folder that Sam had left lying on the table.

Printouts scattered across the floor and he bent to retrieve them. Expecting to see information on the werewolf that Dean had mentioned when he had called him, he frowned at the image on one of the sheets of paper. It appeared to be a drawing of some kind that looked familiar – but he couldn't quite place it completely. Setting the stack on the table, he saw that they were all similar – abstract drawings that had been printed out cheaply at some copy store somewhere. There were a hundred sheets in all – and he set one of them down, tilting his head to one side, thinking.

Perhaps the drawing wasn't so abstract as it was – _incomplete._ He turned the sheet around and started rifling through the other sheets and stopped halfway through. Castiel set the picture down and matched up two of the ends. The odd line that crossed both sheets of paper connected to make a longer one – and tilting his head to the side, he found that for some reason, it reminded him of a sagging chain. He turned back to the papers and started sorting through them, searching for another picture to match to the two he already had. Now that he had something to focus his attention on, the angel didn't notice the digital clock clicking time away – marking forty minutes past the departure, fifty, an hour, an hour and ten minutes...

**

Clio had gone the opposite direction of the Winchesters. Lawrence wasn't exactly a big town, given that a third of the population were college students. The University of Kansas was rather subdued, as the University of Missouri had won the Big Eight Conference Tournament and Kentucky had won the NCAA tournament this year. The Jayhawks wouldn't win the big game for ten more years – not that she would be letting anyone know that. She stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets and continued on down the street, glancing over her shoulder on occasion. 

It had started to get dark and just as she turned a corner, she pulled back abruptly, the old instinct to hide from the creature she was pursuing kicking in automatically. If there was a Muse Hate Club in Heaven – even though angels supposedly weren't capable of that emotion – Anna was the most likely candidate for founder and president. She and her sisters never got into trouble over the works of mankind, it was always other actions that put them in chains. The last Muse who'd been tortured was Perry – what the charge was exactly, Clio didn't know. She took a deep breath and peered back around the corner and she watched the angel entering a garage that was closed for the night, but the lights were still on. 

She wasn't sure where the brothers were right now – she should have looked up the address in the phone book or something. Odds were, however, they were having enough trouble making up a story about who they were that she wouldn't help matters by just showing up. She also didn't put it past Mary Winchester's hunter instinct to kick in and try and kill her. Clio really didn't want to spend the rest of her night coughing up spent bullets or nursing stab wounds. Not when she had another task to perform back here tomorrow morning. Of course, the brothers knew nothing about that. 

A rumble of a motor snapped her from her thoughts and she looked back around the corner. It was the same black Impala that she'd seen back at the motel – wait – she squinted her eyes and realized the one three decades in the future was a rebuilt one – this was the original. She saw a man with dark hair get out of the car and head inside. Not wasting any more time she came around the corner and started to follow him. “Angels and their damn traps...” She muttered under her breath and started to run as she heard a crash from inside. 

**

Heather glared up at the ceiling of her room at Bobby's in annoyance. She tried the light switch one more time, hoping that the bulb might have just flickered instead of dying. She let out a sigh and turned it back into the off position. “Great... just great....” She turned and headed down the stairs where Bobby was rifling through a particularly thick looking book. “At least it's still mostly light outside...” She muttered as she got to the bottom of the stairs. “Uncle Bobby, where do you keep your spare light-bulbs?”

He looked up. “Is it the lamp or the ceiling light that went out?”

“Ceiling.” She rubbed her nose. “I hate to be a bother about it...”

“No, it's okay.” He thought for a moment. “Third shelf of the hall closet upstairs – there should be some there – use one of the ones in the blue package.”

“Thanks.” She paused. “Uh...I don't suppose you have a step-stool or something...I really would rather stand on something more sturdy than a chair.”

Bobby nodded. “I don't blame you there. It's down in the basement.”

“Sure. I'll put it back when I'm finished.” She started across the room. “You need anything from down there since I'm going?”

“No kid, I'm fine.” He went back to his book. “But bring in some more firewood in before it gets to dark.”

“Not a problem.” She went back into the hallway and opened the door to the basement. As she came to the bottom of the stairs, she looked around slowly. She'd not spent much time down here and for good reason. The whole basement creeped her out, from the heavy iron door on one wall that led to the panic room that she had been told to go hide in if all hell broke loose in Sioux Falls to strangely enough, the work bench loaded with tools. It was probably that the place looked like a horror movie waiting to happen – only the psycho killer was missing. The step stool was against the wall, next to the pegboard full of various tools. 

Like most things down here, it was dusty and she picked up a rag to clean it off a little before she hauled it up two flights of stairs. Sighing as she took the stool off of its hook, she turned it sideways and started back to her room. It was kind of weird to be calling it that, since this place didn't feel like home – at least, not much. Things would most likely get better when she got into school – at least then she'd not feel so... well, it'd give her something to do besides clean and read Bobby's books.

When she got back upstairs, she set the stool up and went to get the light-bulb from where they were stored. After unscrewing the old one, dusting out the cover – she hadn't known how dirty that was or she'd have cleaned it sooner – she put in the new bulb and flicked on the light. 

As she stood there, her hand flat against the wall, she spread out her fingers, thinking. 

_Find a way to make them listen._

An idea came to her – and she went to her backpack and fished out her pencil bag. There was a whole package of pencils that she'd gotten at the start of school – and she knew there was a sharpener down in the library. She _might_ be able to pull the idea off and probably get in a lot of trouble while she was at it.

But for what she was thinking, it might just be worth the trouble.

**

Claire Novak crossed out another day on the calender with a black sharpie marker. She'd been doing this for nearly a year – since the day after Castiel had used her for a vessel instead of her dad. Now the angel was back in her father and she and her mom still had no idea where they'd gone. It was almost Christmas. She'd already had one holiday season with out her dad – and she kept hoping that somehow, there'd be some kind of miracle for the season and it would all be over. Of course, last Christmas she wanted her daddy back and that hadn't happened. She kept her prayers said – even though her mom seemed to be loosing faith – and remained convinced that someday her dad would show up, probably still in that brown rain coat and same suit he'd walked out of the house in almost two years ago. 

She recapped the marker, stuck it into the cup with the rest of her pens and sat down with a sigh on her bed. She'd been thirteen when her dad had left – now she was fifteen. It was hard to know what to tell people when they asked where her father had gone – most of the kids at school stopped asking and then they stopped talking to her. The girl was fully aware that _when_ , she refused to think of it as _if_ , her father came back, things would be vastly different than it had been before. She still didn't know why her, why her dad. There had to be other families, other mothers, other fathers, wives, husbands – other kids who'd had someone who'd said 'yes' to an angel and then disappeared from their family. Claire wasn't sure what was better – knowing what was really going on, or being totally ignorant. 

Tomorrow was a Saturday – she was going to haul out the Christmas tree from the attic and set it up in the family room – as if nothing was wrong in the Novak family. She didn't care that she was too old for Santa Claus or things like that. She refused to give up hope. Sighing, she went and turned out the lights of her room and crawled into bed. Her mom was working late – as she often did these days.   
Snuggling deep under the covers, she silently said her prayers and as she closed her eyes, she had another thought. _Maybe daddy gets to spend Christmas in Heaven with Castiel. That would be incredible... getting to go to Heaven without having to die._

Comforted with that possibility, she burrowed deeper under the blankets and fell asleep.

**

Clio had stated she would take care of 'damage control' at the garage and join up with the Winchesters later. She managed to repair the broken glass, the wall that Dean had flown through, the dents in the cars, everything. As she looked down at the owner of the garage itself, Mr. Woodson, he was the only problem she had left. She crouched down, her hand on the man's chest. It wasn't the first time she'd seen the body of a person whose eyes had been burned out with holy fire. Most of the time, none of them deserved it, like it was mankind's fault demons could possess almost anyone. She looked the man over, a hand on his cheek. “I don't know what your version of Heaven is, but I can guarantee you will find no disgruntled customers or complaining workers there.” 

She shifted her gaze to the overhead rafters, already hating her task. After turning out the lights so she could work under cover of darkness, she brushed a finger over his burned out sockets, giving the illusion they still existed. Ten minutes later, she had hung the man up from the rafters, an overturned chair under his feet. He'd be found either late tonight or tomorrow when the workers came in. Clio stepped back, hands fisted into her pockets. As she raised her chin, she caught something in the air, a presence rushing past her, heading onward – speaking only one word as it ruffled her hair ever so-slightly: _Run._

*

The couple had left the woman's sister's house in the early hours of the morning. They didn't want to hear another word from her or her husband about how they weren't raising their child well, about religion – she didn't want to hear another damn word. She and her husband would go back to San Francisco and forget this whole crappy vacation. It was times like this that the woman wished her older brother was still alive – he'd only been gone a year and it felt like so much longer. Aaron wasn't even supposed to be on that damn trip to the Canary Islands anyway – it was supposed to have been his boss at that travel agency he'd worked for. The woman's little boy hadn't said anything when they roused him and told him to go to the bathroom and then get in the car. He'd learned a long time ago not to contradict or question either of his parents. Especially his father when he had that oft-glazed look in his eyes. 

He was to young to know that being six wasn't supposed to be this way. He'd just settled down in the middle seat of his parent's Volkswagen bus, his head resting on the back of the seat. The roar of the motor and the rumble of tires of pavement had started to lull him back to sleep, so the argument his parents were having was just on the edge of his mind. Dad was telling Mom that her sister was a self-righteous bitch. He wasn't sure what that meant, but the tone told him it was bad. His eyes were already shut when the car rumbled over the Martin Luther King Jr. Bridge over the Mississippi River, out of Illinois and into Missouri. 

He was deeply asleep when they were out of the city and into the valley that was nothing but farms – a shortcut to circumvent all the city traffic in St. Louis.

*

The grass was damp with dew under her shoes as the Muse of History walked along the side of the highway, the smell of freshly turned earth filled the air. Already the fields on either side of the road had begun to turn green, the first shoots sweet corn were working their way towards the sky. There were not many cars driving past her this early, it was mostly a few tractor trailers heading for St. Louis or leaving there for places out west. The early June morning was cool and pleasant, heralding the start of what should be a lovely late spring day. A long whistle of a barge making it's way down the Missouri river echoed through the fog filled farmland 

She stopped for a minute, listening to the other sounds – crickets, birds, even a few cows – and then came a clatter of a car motor in need of repair – a car moving _much_ to fast in this thick fog. She was far enough from the road that traffic wasn't a concern to her – or she to it. The car was coming from the west, racing down towards her at a speed that would be unsafe even if it was clear. It was a big, heavy station wagon that had to be going at least eighty. It hit a slicked patch of asphalt and went veering into the other lane and slammed into a sedan. The crash of metal against metal echoed twice as loud as normal in the early morning. More squeals of rubber on asphalt as cars, trucks, wagons – rigs all pulled on their breaks. One more crash, two more crashes – There were five more crashes in addition to the very first one. The air was now rank with the scent of gasoline, burnt rubber and impending fire. 

She ran into the road, ducking past the totaled sedan and jumping onto the hood of another station wagon – not the one that had caused the wreck - heading for the center of the wreck. People were screaming and getting out of their cars as Clio reached the center of the pileup, where an upside down Volkswagen bus lay, it's windshield shattered. The driver and front seat passenger lay on the pavement – they'd not been wearing seat-belts. There was a faint popping noise and she knew it was only a matter of minutes before the car itself exploded. 

Wrenching the side door open, she found the boy hanging from his seatbelt, gasping for air. “It's okay...” She bent down and walked hunched over to him. “It's going to be okay...”

“Mama....” The little boy sniffled. “What's going on...” 

“Here....” She wrapped her arm around his waist. “Put your arms around my neck, I'll get you out of here.”

The boy was in to much shock to protest as the strange lady unfastened his seatbelt and backed them both out of the car. He didn't know why he wasn't afraid as he buried his face in her neck, holding onto her tighter than he'd ever hugged anyone before. For some reason, he felt very safe in this woman's arms. 

Clio took off at a run, heading back to the side of the road, cradling the young boy. “Look out!” She screamed at two people approaching the van. “It's going go!” Sure enough, just as she cleared the green wagon that had caused the accident in the first place, a horrific boom echoed behind her and she felt the heat of fire singe her hair. She kept running until she was back at the side of the road and then she bent down to set the boy on his feet. “You're okay... you're okay...” She took off her leather coat and wrapped the shivering boy in it. She brushed his shaggy hair out of his face, giving him an encouraging smile. “You're safe now.” 

“Mama... mom and dad...” He was shivering, clutching the to-large coat to him, looking back at the wreck. “Are... what...”

She hugged the boy. “Don't be scared. We'll get them help.” 

“Lady, what the hell?” One of the drivers came over to her. “Holy shit, how did you know there was kid in the middle of that mess?”

“I could hear him crying.” She looked up at the man. “I don't know where his parents are...” She gave him a look that clearly said - _don't let the boy know that they're dead_ \- “The police should be able to get everything sorted out...” She turned back to the boy. “How about I stay with you until we get you back with your family?”

The boy hiccuped. “Okay.” He sniffled. “What's your name?”

Clio pulled a handkerchief out of one of the coat pockets and started to rub grit off of his face. “What's yours?” 

He faintly smiled, showing where he was getting his two front teeth, his blue eyes shining. “My name is Jimmy. Jimmy Novak.”

“It's nice to meet you, Jimmy.” She tucked the dirty cloth into her jeans pocket. “My name is Claire.”

**

They had been back in the present for only a few hours before Dean had wanted to get going on the case in Texas. He wanted to take care of the werewolf and then drive like hell to get back to Sioux Falls by the end of next week. Something that Michael had told him had made him nervous as hell. He told Dean that he was his _true_ vessel, but not his _only_ one. If the archangel could get into John Winchester, then it was perfectly logical assumption that the next person down the list from him – as Adam was dead – was Heather. He wanted to believe that the girl wouldn't be that stupid, but she'd not been raised in the same manner he and Sam had. All that apple pie, peanut butter sandwiches and going to church may have made her childhood normal – but she was far from normal.

Sam had said it about Adam – when they hadn't known that it wasn't their brother, but a ghoul: _He's a Winchester, he's already cursed._

No. He wouldn't think about Heather like that. 

_But it's not like you can deny it._

He winced and glanced over in the passenger seat, where Sam was sleeping. They had come back to the present to find Castiel putting the drawings Heather had done together. He'd been less than half finished when they had arrived, and after numbering the sheets, had taken the file folder and gone to Bobby's to work the rest out. When he'd scanned the images, he'd been to stunned to say much. It'd only intensified his nightmares. It made him remember Hell more clearly, if anything. 

Dean could remember the weight of those chains, the way they burned at flesh and the strain on his soul as he swung there, helpless. The way the light seemed to shift from red, to green, to even purple – the whole spectrum of color being raced through in such a manner that it burned the eyes. But even closing them didn't help – the flashes were still there. The pain and the lights were minor, however, compared to the sounds and smells of Hell. Screams of agony from souls being ripped apart – he'd screamed for thirty years in the Pit before finally giving in. _Dad lasted one hundred._

He gritted his teeth at the thought. He wouldn't think about this, not now, not ever, if he could help it. But the way things burned... their bodies may have been gone, but souls still could be roasted – he never did get that far – he never torched a soul in Hell. But he'd seen it done – and yesterday, he'd watched Michael wearing his father smite Anna. It wasn't all that different – except the angel had a body to go with the grace.

The screams, however – was _exactly_ the same.

**

Castiel stood quietly in the dining room at Bobby's house, though it has been decades since it was used for that purpose, assembling the sheets of paper. It was the only room with a wall big enough that wasn't covered in bookshelves. The file folder lay open and he carefully thumbed through the pages, turning some around as he looked from the sheet to his work. It was late and both Bobby and Heather were sleeping. He could hear the older hunter's snores from across the hallway. As for the girl, that was more assumption than proof – but it was two in the morning. He'd been working on the project since the two went to bed – he preferred to work in the peace and quiet.

The house creaked and settled, the wind rattling the glass in the windows on the north side of the house as another winter storm roared into this area of the Great Plains. Despite the howling wind and blowing snow, it was peaceful in the Singer house. Castiel welcome the blessed quiet that came so rarely into his life these days. If he paused, he mused that he could, in fact, hear everything in the house itself. Not just Bobby's snores, which were rather clear from across the hall – but the ticking of the clock in the library and the clock in the kitchen – stretching further he could hear Heather's even breathing and the creak of bedsprings as the two humans turned in their sleep. 

He looked at the remaining sheets and back at the wall. The first pieces of this unknown puzzle had been the near the middle of one side – and he'd worked from there. Filling in the three of the corners and leaving him with just one – the upper right. Although that wasn't all that remained – he could see the picture clearly now. The thin lines that had criss-crossed nearly ever page, abstract on their own, were chains. Miles upon miles of chains that wove a macabre pattern that no human on this side of death should be able to see – least of all a child. While the pages were shades of gray, black and white – he knew the true color of the swirling mass that the chains were embossed over: green. 

It wasn't drawn so someone was looking down into the pits of Hell, but rather, if someone had been standing on the floor of that horrific place and was looking up. As he fitted the center sheets into place, he stepped back, tilting his head to the side. Now he could see the central figure, no more than a dark shadow, no bigger than monarch butterfly, a lone person suspended by the chains. Though there were no details, he knew automatically who it was. _Dean._

Looking from one corner to the other, he could see another figure in the drawing – it was much larger and as hidden as the pattern of chains had been, if not more so. The rest of the sheets slid from his fingers and the angel could only stare at the massive shadow that seemed to take up at least a third of the area. It wasn't Lilith, it wasn't Alistair. The hidden figure in the sketches was him. 

A feeling of sadness settled over the angel as he bent down and picked up the fallen pieces –able to add the remaining sheets much quicker now that he knew what the missing corner should look like. He stepped away from the large mural that now took up the entire wall. Castiel couldn't remember the last time he stretched out his wings to their full length – how the girl saw all of this, he doesn't know. He's not even sure Heather knows how it all goes together. He doesn't know if John Winchester, if he'd been alive to get the sketches, would be able to figure it out. But as he stared at the wall, dimly lit by an iron chandelier that had three dead bulbs and needed to be dusted, he is not sure what is more startling: The fact that he is seeing his own shadow caused by the brilliant grace of Heaven sending a blinding light into the very bowels of Hell. Or the fact that it was captured in graphite and paper by an eleven year old girl. 

**

Clio hummed to herself as she swung the door open of the small jazz club in New Orleans. The place was open, and despite the city's claims that the party never stopped, happy hour wasn't for another two hours and there weren't many customers inside. She waved to the man cleaning glasses behind the bar. “Afternoon, Gus.”

“Hello, Lyra.” He replied – he'd been calling her that for she wasn't sure how long. She wasn't even sure why he called her that. 

She went over to the small stage and set down the bass guitar case she was carrying. Another member of the small band was already there, tuning his instrument. “You're early, for a change.”

“What can I say?” He gave her a small grin. “I have to keep you guessing, don't I, Clio?”

“You know, I think your unpredictability is one of the things that makes you so damn adorable.” She shrugged out of her dark blue coat and set it over a stool before she opened up the case and lifted her instrument from within. 

“I try.” He shrugged. “Maybe Opi will surprise us and show up before we start performing.” 

“That'd be nice.” She muttered. “But I don't think Kokopelli understands the meaning of being on time unless there's food involved.”

The man laughed. “Well...” He took out a soft cloth and started polishing the front of his brass instrument. “Doesn't that apply to a lot of us?” He gave her a once over. “Speaking of, where's the big party this New Years, do you know?”

“I've got to ring in two thousand ten at home this year... my maman wanted to have as many of her girls at home as possible.”

“Must be nice...family...”

Clio tuned the instrument and plucked one of the strings, smiling at the tone. “Well, Loki... I'd invite you to the fun... but...” She leaned over closer to him and spoke in barely a whisper. “My sisters Callie and Tia have this _thing_ about angels.” She winked and went back to adjusting her instrument.

The archangel Gabriel shook his head and gave his trumpet an experimental blow. He knew full well that the only Muses who knew his true identity were Clio, Melpomene, Terpsichore, Urania and Erato. “Yeah... I've got plenty of family members who feel the same thing in reverse.” 

“I don't meant to overstep my bounds here....” She finished tuning her instrument and dug a pick out of the small cloth bag in her case. “But I'm thinking you have one brother who wouldn't mind your company for Christmas this year.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Don't push it, Muse.”

“Well, I'm only saying...” She shrugged. “You won't go home and he can't...what is it that they say? Misery loves company?”

“I don't know what your talking about.” The angel shrugged as the next member of the band, toting a small bag came into the bar. He waved a hello to Gus and then came over to the stage. 

“Loki, Clio – good to see you.” The man was taller than Gabriel and went down to where the house drums were already set up. “You believe this weather?”

“I think I'm the only one who doesn't mind it.” Clio said in response. “How are things, Camulus?”

The Gaulish god of War gave the muse a rare smile. “As good as can be expected.” He unpacked the drumsticks from his bag. “When is Kokopelli going to learn to be on time?”

Gabriel snorted. “I'd say when pigs fly, but I could actually arrange that.”

**

Heather sat slumped in a chair in front of the dining room wall, refusing to look up. She hadn't known how the pictures went together – having only seen them in flashes of dreams that plagued her all that summer she now knew Dean had spent in Hell. When the nightmares finally stopped, she did her best to put the events out of her mind. It'd gotten easier with time – but now, faced with a creation she hadn't know had been there... it made her want to curl up and forget the world existed. Bobby and Castiel both had assured her that it wasn't a _bad_ thing. But what they needed her to do was to remember other parts of the dreams, other than just the images she'd put down on paper. Had she been alone or was there someone with her? Did she see any one other than Ruby clearly? It was hard to remember... and even harder with Bobby staring at her. “I'm telling you, I tried to forget all about the nightmares.”

“I know kid.” He let out a tired sigh. “But there might be something important you missed.”

“I don't think the answer on how to stop the Apocalypse is buried in my brain anywhere.” She poked at the worn rug. “It's like...” 

“Like what?”

She looked up. “You ever have that dream where you're running from something – but no matter how hard or fast you run, you can't get away?”

“Yeah. Never entirely sure what's after me either.” Bobby wasn't lying – he knew the dream all to well.

“It's sort...I don't have a dream like that...” She bit her lip. “I'm not running from something... I'm running to get somewhere.”

“You mean like to catch an airplane or train?”

“Yeah... but it's not that... it's something else. I don't even know where I need to be and why....” She swallowed and looked back at the wall. “I just know that if I don't get there on time, bad things will happen.”

Bobby wheeled closer to her. “Did someone tell you that?”

She nodded. “I've been having that dream since I was...” She thought for a moment. “I think I'd just turned seven...”

“Who told you bad things would happen?” The old hunter didn't like the sound of where this was going. If she was correct in her math and she had been seven – then she'd been having this dream since Sam's girlfriend, Jess, was killed by Azazel.

“He said his name was William.” She rubbed her nose. “He...” She shook her head. “I think he's dead.”

“What makes you say that?” 

“Cause he's dressed like he's in a documentary about the American Revolution.”

Bobby frowned. “Anything else you remember about him?”

“His hair's blond... curly...and he doesn't _look_ like me, but he's sort of built the same way...” She rubbed her nose. “I mean, he's taller than I am and you know, but... it's sort of the same.”

“You're sure?”

“Uh huh.” She looked back down at the rug.

“Well... I'm willing to bet you're not that Muse's only kid...” He backed his wheelchair up and headed into the hallway. “Come on... no need to sit here trying to force yourself to remember.” 

She stood up and followed him into the library. “Okay.”

“You know Heather, you've been a hell of a good sport about everything that's been thrown at you in the past month. Most kids in your situation would be going mad right now.” He went to his desk and started flipping through a book. “I'm actually surprised you've not mentioned the fact that Christmas is this Friday.”

“Well, Sam told me no one makes much of a deal about the holidays around here, so I thought I better just suck it up and put it out of my mind. Since that's what everyone else around here does, I figured I shouldn't mention it.” She looked away from him.

Bobby shut the book with a loud thump that made her jump. “Well, there's no call for that.” He folded his hands and set them on top of the book. “I don't know if Sam and Dean will be able to get all the way back here from Texas on time for the actual day and Jo and Ellen said they won't be here until New Years...” He tapped his fingers thoughtfully. “So it looks to be you, me and the angel for Christmas.” 

“Sounds like the start for a really cheesy holiday movie.” She turned towards him and hugged herself. “I'd think the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future also included in the cast, but knowing you, you'd waste them with a few rounds of rock salt.” She shrugged. “And something tells me that Castiel isn't to much of a fan of our human holidays.”

He nodded. “True. But between you and me, I think we could both use a little more holiday cheer than either of us is willing to admit.”

“I guess.” She rocked back and forth on her feet. “I don't suppose we could bake cookies, could we? I know that probably sounds corny...”

“No.” He backed away from the desk. “That actually sounds like a halfway decent idea... can't make anything fancy... I think I turned what cookie cutters I had into bullets years ago.” He wheeled himself toward the kitchen. “There should be a Betty Crocker cookbook on the top shelf of the bookshelf in the kitchen.”

“You mean there's an actual book in this house that _doesn't_ deal with the occult? I mean, besides the Bibles.” She turned and followed him into the kitchen.

“Funny kid. Real funny.” 

**  
Noah shoved his carry-on bag into the overhead compartment and then helped the older couple sharing the seats across the isle from his. He sat down in the single row seat and fastened the safety belt. Glancing out the window, he swallowed hard as he watched the ground workers applying another coat of ice melt to the wings. Willing himself _not_ to think about plane crashes – for some reason, the memory of news reports of a plane crashing into the Potomac River when he was around fourteen came to forefront. In an effort to keep his mind off of such matters, he pulled the Sky-Mall catalog out of the seat pocket and started flipping idly through it. 

“Sir, are you going to be all right?” 

Noah looked up into the flight attendant's warm face. “I'm not a big fan of flying.”

“I understand.” She said in a manner that said she saw his sort of flier almost daily. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” He said, turning his attention back to the catalog. Strangely enough, as he was flipping through the section on _Harry Potter_ items from the Nobel Collection, he remembered he was going to look into the history of his house – and see if the could find out who the boy who spoke Greek might be.

_When did you start believing in ghosts, anyway?_

_Around the one showed up in the house and missing things started reappearing._

It was true – things he and Wesley assumed long gone – possibly forever, started showing up in random yet regular intervals. Puzzle pieces, the pen for Wes's Nintendo DS – and even some things they'd never seen before – such as the antique cuff-links that had shown up on his dresser two days ago. A moment later he heard a pinging sound and he looked up as he felt the plane lurch as it was pushed away from the gate. After double checking his phone was off and reviewing the card of instructions in case of an emergency – Noah took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He'd feel a lot better once they were airborne – it wasn't the flying that was the problem. It was the taking off and landing that he hated. 

_“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen and welcome aboard US Airways Flight nine-four-two, non-stop to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The weather there is currently sunny, with a ground temperature of thirty-five degrees and light wind. Our traveling time today is just over one and a half hours, no delays are expected...”  
_  
Noah rested his head against the space above the window as he felt the plane turn onto the runway and a moment later, he felt it start to accelerate and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter as he felt the plane lift off from the ground and race into the sky. 

**

Castiel had to get away from the salvage yard, just to clear his mind. A lot had happened in a very short time – again. He was spending his afternoon on another search for God, hoping that the human holiday of Christmas might prove to be a more likely time to find him. The crowd wasn't so bad on a Monday afternoon as it would be on a Saturday. As he walked onward, he caught a faint trace of power, not unlike that of the Muses. Cursing softly in Enochian, he paused and tried to locate the source. All he came up with was a pale woman in a coat standing next to a bright red kettle, ringing a bell. 

He detected no threat from her, he was surprised he could feel anything from her at all, given how hard she was working on keeping her power restrained. She was a head shorter than him, with a very pale face, though that could be from the cold. It wasn't one of the Muses... it was their mother. He was almost even with her as he heard her say 'God bless you' to a man who dropped in a folded bill. Having never met Zeus – and no desire to – he now had the answer to where Heather's blue eyes red hair had come from originally. He'd been wrong about the girl having eyes like her mother – Melpomene's eyes weren't the same shade – the Muse's eyes were darker. He also noted that when he made eye contact with her, she barely shuddered, honestly afraid of him. “What are you doing here?”

She blinked balefully up at him. “Helping spread peace on Earth and good will towards man. At times like these, every little bit counts.” 

“Mnemosyne...” He was rather surprised – he thought only the Muses walked the planet.

“Oh, we all go for walks every now and then.” She answered his thought. “Some just go for walks more often than others.” She went back to ringing the bell she was holding. 

As he walked away, he was aware that she was following him with her gaze. He'd been told by his superiors about the Muses. It was just one more thing he'd not been told – and every day, that list of things that he _should_ have been told seemed to grow longer.


	12. Christmas Nights in Blue

Bobby looked rather amused at the four containers worth of cookies that were sitting on his kitchen table. Despite his intention to not let the holiday spirit get to him, somehow – it had. So he and Heather had made enough cookies for a family of eight – but he had a feeling all the cookies would be gone by New Year's. He turned his coffee mug in his hands, his smile slipping slightly. While the cookies seemed to cheer her up for a while, the hunter knew that Heather was putting up a front – just like Dean did when something was bothering him. He knew from experience that the first round of holidays weren't the hardest – it was always the _second_ time around that the holidays seemed worse. Hell, Bobby hadn't gone whole hog into the whole celebration of Christmas in nearly twenty years. That had been more for the benefit of two boys aged ten and seven. John Winchester had even managed to procure a tree on Christmas Eve - though Bobby suspected that the only reason for said tree was because the lot where he'd gotten would have had to turn it into mulch two days after the holiday. 

After spending the better part of the last decade alone on Christmas – he was used to it. One good thing he wagered was that Heather was registered to start the second semester of seventh grade at Patrick Henry Junior High next month. Getting her back into school was one of the bigger steps on getting her life back to as normal as possible. There hadn't many bad days in the past two weeks – the only really bad day had been the one when they'd finally told her how parents had died. It was twice as bad as Sam and Dean hadn't been here and it'd been left to him. Bobby would have at least liked Cas to have been around. The angel was about the only person she'd talk directly too – more so than Dean. Although the hunter had a feeling that came from the girl's religious upbringing and the fact that the angel was around a bit more than Dean.

“Morning.” Heather said as she came into the kitchen, looking as if she'd not slept at all.

“You're up early.” He replied, taking a sip from his mug.

“Couldn't sleep.” She went to the fridge and took out the pitcher of orange juice. “You didn't accidentally add vodka to this again, did you?”

Bobby grimaced as he took another sip of coffee. “It was an honest mistake and I said I was sorry. I'm surprised you couldn't smell the booze.”

“I was congested.” She flinched as she filled glass. Sometimes she swore she could still taste the burn of the liquor on her throat. “At least now I know what it tastes like.”

“I don't think kids in junior high drink, Heather.”

She took a swig from her glass and folded her arms, staring at him. “Do you have any idea what sort of stuff they're teaching kids like me these days?”

“I would hope the usual.” He frowned. “Or is that stuff I hear about them giving kindergärtners condoms true?”

“No, they wait until you're in seventh grade.” She sighed. “I came home that day and begged my dad to let me go to the local parochial school in Jasper – even if it was just for two years.” She sighed. “He said I had to stick it out until the end of the semester. He then called up the middle school principal and asked if giving twelve year olds condoms was a common practice.” 

“Is it?”

“According to her, yes.” She went over and sat at the table across from him. “I went back to the heath teacher and returned it to her the next day. She said I should keep for just in case purposes.”

“Just in case?” Bobby snorted, looking disgusted. “Was the woman blind to the fact that you're practically still a kid?”

“Obviously. It was crazy, because we moved to Jasper to get _away_ from insane things like that.” She shrugged. “It was like that in the public schools back in Indianapolis... probably worse, actually... I think my old school was the only thing I really missed about moving... and not having to worry about raccoons getting into your trash.”

Bobby chuckled. “I'm glad I don't have that problem either.” He took a sip of coffee. “Oh, before I forget...” He reached into the front pocket of his flannel shirt and took out a small silver charm. “You got something you can attach this too?” He handed it to her.

She turned the small silver object in her hand. “Yeah... uh... what is this for?” 

“It's to prevent demons from getting in you...” He stopped himself from calling her an idjit.

“Oh.” Heather un-tucked the silver chain she wore around her neck and undid the clasp. “Thank you.”

“Your welcome.” He took a another sip of coffee. “What's with the medal?” He nodded at the small object already on the chain.

“This?” She turned it over. “I got this when I was baptized as baby... I didn't start wearing it until I was in second grade, I think.”

Bobby leaned over and pulled the chain towards him, studying it. “Holy Innocents?” He gave her a quizzical look. “Protectors of foundlings?”

“That's right.” She took her chain back and affixed the silver medallion he'd given to her before putting it back around her neck. “I'm not named after a saint.” She took a sip from her glass.

“Kind of surprised you're not.” 

“Well, I would have been, but my grandmothers told my mom and dad that it would be cruel and unusual punishment to saddle me with Esther Agnes.” She grinned. “So instead, I'm named after one of the most tenacious flowers in the world – and my mom's favorite hymn.”

The old hunter gave her a small smile. “You're going to be okay kid... got a lot more grit than most people your age. You know that?”

“No.” She manage to smile a little more certainly and took another sip of juice.

“So what do you want to do for the holiday?” 

“I dunno...” She looked down in her glass. “Pop some popcorn... watch _A Christmas Story_ or something....”

“I think we can arrange that.” He went and refilled his mug. “We might not do much for the holiday, but I don't think we have to worry about a bunch of dogs destroying dinner.”

“Sounds like fun.” She said in reply and finished off her juice. “Though I have a feeling that if anyone in this family ever asked for a Red Rider BB Gun, they'd get something with a lot more stopping power instead.”

*

Heather knew that Uncle Bobby had to know that she was putting up a brave front over the holidays. She finished sharpening a new pencil and made her way back to her room. The only bright spot was that later this evening, she'd at least get to go to church. She shut the door, leaning against it. Since that wasn't for a few more hours, she figured she might as well spend some time on her 'project.' Picking up the alarm clock, she set it to go off at three in the afternoon, so she'd have time to get ready to go – and so that she wouldn't get lost in her work. Then, picking up her I-Pod, scrawled through the lists, selecting her most recent addition to the collection – _September Refugee_ – and, after putting on her earphones and hitting play, the opening bars of Constantine Maroulis's 'Child, Your the Revolution' blocked out the noise of the television downstairs. Heather turned her attention the wall where the door was, picked up the pencil and started to write. 

She'd work on the other wall later. 

**

Gabriel had all but officially declared two-thousand nine as the most unsettling year he'd ever experienced and considering his age, that was saying something. He wasn't sure where to start with where things went nuts, but he decided it had to start when Sam Winchester let Lucifer out of his cage. Things just went do-lolly-crazy from there. He'd tried to nudge the two brothers into their roles, their destiny – and gotten caught as a result. Now all that he could handle – he could handle just about _everything_ that happened until the last week of November. In what he thought was going to be a simple chat with a prophet – nothing new for him – and instead the whole bottom fell out from under him. 

His father had left Heaven and was hiding as the prophet Chuck Shurley. Had the situation not been so serious, he might have laughed until the end of the Apocalypse about that. At least he hadn't been in to much trouble – he had a feeling his Father might have understood why he left, and thankfully, he had. He'd also been instructed to not shove the Winchester brothers into their destiny – the plan was playing itself out perfectly. As Gabriel had never been privy to the entire grand plan – the only one who'd seen that other than God was Michael – he knew that he had to suck it up and do what he was told. Didn't mean he had to like it. Slumming with pagans, as others might put it – he found that the lesser gods weren't all that different from members of his family. 

Gabriel also didn't want to admit that Clio's brief statement a week ago had gotten to him. He had left his family because he couldn't bear the fighting any more. It wasn't just Michael and Lucifer, even after his brother was cast out – the bickering continued. Perhaps what made it all the worse was the fact that no one really noticed when he slipped out the door and took up a different life. He'd spent a few centuries hoping one of his siblings would come looking. Maybe not Michael or Raphael – but perhaps some lower ranking angel... someone from Castiel's garrison, or even Castiel himself. As it was, all he had were a handful of cherubs who knew enough to not say where he was. They were in awe of him so they never questioned his actions. They weren't the sort of companions or siblings Gabriel wanted to spend a great deal of time with either. When singing telegrams started showing up in the human world they reminded him of cherubs – all run and go and so damn perky.

Life among the pagan gods had taught him a few things. The Greeks and the majority of the North and South American gods and goddesses did their best to stay out of the angel's and his Father's way. Since the Greeks practically had a front row seat to the Holy Land and even helped in the destruction of the Egyptian Pantheon, they kept their heads down – most of the time. Hell, the Greeks had the credit for being that Pantheon's destroyer – and Heaven didn't say a word to contradict it. Muses, however – seemed to get away with a lot more than most pagan gods ever did. Of the nine, he found Clio to be the least frustrating and Thalia to be the most. He also knew that the sisters only associated with their half-brothers well and almost never with their half sisters. They'd fight among each other, but the moment one of their father's other daughters poked at one of them – that daughter found herself on the receiving end of the wrath of all nine. Their mother was a different matter all together. 

It was the mother – Mnemosyne - that was the cause of his current situation. Here it was, Christmas Eve and he was under orders to go and talk to her – have a bloody conversation with the most timid member of the Greek Pantheon and the only surviving Titan. The one who every time he'd encountered her had skittered away like a kitten meeting a pit bull. It's not that he thinks the Greek goddess of Memory is entirely powerless – more like smart to stay away from angels. He knew that the five Muses who knew who he really was all had parts in the Great Plan – but as to why Mnemosyne knew, he wasn't sure. He had a feeling one of those five had told her. He never really thought about it all that much – knowing that he could silence any of those five very easily. What he needed to see her about, he had no idea. All Clio had told him was that it was important and that her mother would greatly appreciate him being there. The urge to tell the Muse to shove it had been the first thing that came to mind – but given that she was the sole member of the band who knew the truth about him, he decided to humor her. This one time.

Things had been rather chaotic back when the lights first got turned on this world – by the time there was a hierarchy in Heaven established, the Titans were for the most part, long gone. That had been before things went south in his own family, back before humanity existed and back when his brothers got along, most of the time. Every family had minor squabbles and his was no exception. There weren't any humans yet, but they were in the works. They didn't bother with the pagans back then... they were actually sort of fun to watch – especially after they took a look at mankind and a few of them up with their own versions. Nowhere nearly as good as the original – but Gabriel gave them a few points for trying.

In the middle of nowhere Nevada, the archangel made his way past sage brush, rocks and dust, heading towards a lone figure who was sitting on a large boulder, facing in the opposite direction. Walking was such a tedious task at times. The stone was large enough for both of them so he shifted himself from the ground to stand next to her. The first thing he noticed was that she didn't shirk away from him like she normally did around him or any angel. “You're early.”

“Yes.” She replied, still not looking at him. “You going to sit or stand?”

Shrugging, he sat down, wincing at the hardness underneath him. “Not exactly the sort of meeting place I'm used to.”

“Sometimes you have to meet in places like this.” She shifted her gaze towards him for a moment. “If I said I'm surprised you showed up, would you be offended?”

Gabriel snorted. “What can I say, your daughter can be quite convincing.” He saw her look away. Like most pagan gods, the woman was well dressed. Although in a tweed wool coat, gray slacks and a white blouse, she looked less like a goddess and more like a lawyer. The only jewelry she wore was a sliver bracelet that was full of those charms that he'd seen on other mothers and grandmothers, the ones that looked like boys or girls with birthstones for torsos – and unless he was mistaken, there were close to fifty of them on hers.

“No, it's not that Clio is so convincing, it's that you'd like to quit slumming with us pagans on your own terms.” She smiled faintly. 

“How astute of you.” He leaned back on his hands, staring out across the vast expanse of desert just as a small flurry started. The first time he'd seen snow, he'd been scarcely bigger than a fledgling – and it hadn't been more than a dusting of snow... back when he and his brethren could walk the Earth without the need of a vessel. It was such a distant memory – he and his brothers had all been there – along with their Father. For all he knew, it could have been here, in this very place it had happened. That made him think of something else. “I've never asked – have you met my Father?” He wasn't sure how old she was, but she had to be at least as old as Lucifer.

“Yes.” She focused on her hands and the charms on her bracelet clinked together softly. “Though I have not seen or talked to Him in a very, very, very long time.”

He shifted his position so he could rest one arm on his knee. “I can never keep track of how old some of you are...”

“Oh, I'm younger than Lucifer – but I'm older than Raphael.” She raised her chin. “I always thought the reason those two never got along was because they were actually so much alike.”

He snorted. “You've not spent much time with either.” He stared directly at her and then she turned and met his gaze.

“You know, I've always wondered just how well it worked....I really thought it would wear off eventually... or you'd spend enough time slumming that you might remember.” 

“Remember what?” Gabriel had been told this meeting was important, but this was starting to seriously worry him.

“This.” She stretched her right arm out and tapped his head with her fore and middle fingers.

Something in the archangel's mind snapped open – a latent memory. He can remember when the universe was young and this place, this tiny little planet that his Father took so much interest in – a tiny blue world in a universe that held billions of worlds. The impact of Creation had caused more than just what had been expected. So much power head been released that it sent tendrils of energy into the very earth and from there, other beings had formed. Not angels, not humans – humans hadn't been thought up yet – the first handful of creatures who would later be the pagan gods. Once the dust settled, the armies of Heaven had decided to see what these other beings were like – just to see, not to harm or interfere, there was a plan for all this, after all. He'd been part of the group that had gone to the East – that had been the first time he'd seen Kali – and _that_ had been rather disturbing. The woman had more arms than some angels had wings. He wouldn't notice her true beauty for eons. 

He came home – everyone came home to Heaven.... except one angel. He hadn't remembered that until now... he hadn't remembered that there used to be _five_ archangels, not four. Michael and Lucifer on one side, himself and Raphael on the other – and in the middle, one sister: temperance and moderation. The angel who'd gone to see the Greek Pantheon (before they were officially Greek, that is)– she was the one who hadn't come home. Her sole companion on the trip had crawled into his Father's garden, looking as if he'd been wrestling with dragons. His wings were broken, feathers half gone, almost his entire flesh was covered in burns and his face was bloody. His cries had been horrific, earth shattering, terrifying – a wretched, raw, agonized voice screaming words about defilement and murder. 

Michael and Lucifer had become enraged and were ready to slaughter the whole of those gods at a word . Then there was a strange blackness covering whatever took place. Gabriel can remember feeling dizzy – the first feeling he'd ever experienced – his sister had gone to Mount Olympus knowing what was going to happen to her. It was part of the Great Plan.

His eyes shot open and he stared at Mnemosyne and while the pale woman is still in his view, he can now see what was hidden. “Arael?” 

“Yes, _adelfáki_. It's me.”

“How can... what...” He wasn't sure if he wanted to fly away or hug the woman, goddess, angel for all she was worth. “Do they... think you're one of them?”

“Since Hades is dead, the only one who knows the entire truth is Artemis.” She shifted so she was hugging her legs. “If it wasn't for those two, I _would_ be dead.”

Suddenly several things made a great deal of sense. First and foremost, why Greek Pantheon had chosen followers where they did – with almost no fear, just at the Holy Land's back door. Either they were being set up or someone had convinced them it was a nice place. Secondly, the Muses weren't living off of creativity – if their mother was an angel – then what was keeping them powerful was - _grace._ It also explained how the Muses were able to travel through time – with more precession than half the Heavenly Host. It was a weird feeling –he actually felt a little bad for all the times he had threatened to smite one of them – if one wanted to be technical, he'd been threatening his nieces. This also explained why some of their children could see angels and not have their eyes burned out of their skulls. “Do... any of your daughters know about this?”

“Not all of them.” She took a deep breath. “The ones that do know are more powerful than the ones that don't.” 

Gabriel ran his hands through his hair. “Michael knows about this, doesn't he?”

“Yes... but only since about the start of the second millennium.” She rubbed her eyes tiredly. “He wanted to kill Zeus... although I think if anyone's going to kill that bastard, it's going to be Hera.” She frowned. “But knowing him, he'll get his little _darling_ to do the fighting for him.” 

“For the record, I don't like Athena either.” He let out a breath. “Lucifer doesn't know, does he?”

“You think I'd be sitting here if he did?” She smirked. She'd only seen her brother's fall from the outside. She'd even tried to talk to him before Michael cast him into Hell – in that brief period the former archangel had been on Earth. He'd spat on her and called her worthless. Had he known the truth – she seriously doubted he would have refused her offer of help.

“True.” He shook his head. “This is just... insane.” He straightened up and tugged at her coat sleeve. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“You're my sister and I haven't seen you since Odin was a boy – we are going to have lunch. It is the holidays.”

“Lunch?” She gave him a bemused look. “Loki, you are aware that Saturnalia isn't for another two weeks, right?”

Gabriel snorted. “I'll send you a card.” He jumped down from the rock. “But for now, just indulge me and my love of holidays.”

She stood up. “I suppose I could indulge in your request – as long as there's deep fried potatoes involved...” She jumped down effortlessly. “Possibly with cheese and gravy.”

“That... should not be a problem...but there _must_ be chocolate for dessert.” He gave her another half hug – still not trusting himself or her for a full one. He had a feeling that if he gave her a two armed one – he'd not be able to let go until the end of the Apocalypse.

**

Sam and Dean were spending Christmas just outside of Oklahoma City. It wasn't the worst or the best holiday they'd had, but fell pretty much in the middle. With a carton of eggnog and rum, a box of microwave popcorn and decent stash of frozen dinners, the two brothers settled down in their hotel room to watch the _A Christmas Story_ marathon on TNT. Neither of them could stand to watch _It's A Wonderful Life_ or _Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street_ – Dean felt they were to chick-flick and Sam couldn't watch the later, as it had been one of Jess's favorites. The werewolf in Texas had been pretty routine and not taken all of three days. Having a little time off, especially considering how nuts December had been, was most welcome. The microwave dinged and Dean pulled out the meatloaf meal he was cooking, stirred the potatoes twice and stuck it back in for its second round of heating. “How's the chicken?”

Sam shrugged and speared some broccoli on the fork he was using. “Had worse, had better.” He huffed softly. “It's better than just ramen noodles.”

“You can say that again.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall next to the microwave. “Bobby called... he's worried about Ellen and Jo.”

“He say why?”

“They've not called in about a week – and Ellen usually calls every other day.”

“Well, if they're in the middle of a case, they might be preoccupied. It's happened to us a few times.”

“True.” He rubbed his eyes. “Well, if we've not heard from them by New Years, I say we head for Maine and find them.”

Sam nodded and filled two plastic cups with eggnog as the microwave dinged again. “Sounds good.”

Dean carried his dinner over to the small table and sat down across from his brother. “Maybe it's nothing more than not being able to get a cell phone signal. They were tracking a demon and it wouldn't the be the first time service gets out of whack. How many times have we have had it happen?”

“More than I care to remember.” He cut into the baked chicken of his dinner. “Danger of living in the modern world.”

“Yeah.” He said, spooning gravy onto his mashed potatoes. “Didn't get a chance to talk to Heather, Bobby says she stays up in her room a lot of the time.”

“Can't say I blame her. I know we keep thinking things will be better when she gets into school, but I don't know if that's the case.”

“You know, this all sounded and looked a lot easier when Stephen Kittredge first suggested it. I guess the fact that when this is all over, we don't know what to do that's probably got her worried.”

“What do you think we should do?” He stabbed at his vegetables. 

“I don't know, I don't think the Kittredges exactly had time to tell anyone where their daughter went.”

“I know she has godparents and some aunts and uncles, but given what she told you about the Langley family, I don't think any of them will take her in.”

“What do you want me to do Sammy? Admit that I'd rather keep her with us?”

“Is that what you really want?”

“You said that being a Winchester made Adam cursed. Now that she's on the demon radar, it's not like she'll be able to get off of it.”

“I don't think hunting is in her blood the way it is in ours.”

“I'm not saying she has to be a hunter, Sam. I'm saying she'd be safer with us or with Bobby or Ellen than with any of the family she was raised in.”

“I'm not arguing that with you, but what happens when something happens to us? What if we don't make it out of this alive? What then?”

Dean stabbed at his meat. “I have a feeling that if she's got a personality like that Clio chick does, she could hang out with Gabriel for a while.”

“I don't think the archangel would do that.” Although he had a feeling he might – if he ever found out the snowball incident.

“You never know, Sammy.” He gave his brother a half grin, not wanting to think about what would happen if he and Sam didn't survive the Apocalypse. 

**

Nate didn't mind going to the Christmas Vigil every year – he had never minded it. When he'd been young enough to still believe in Santa Claus, he actually liked it. He could get up and tear into the stack of gifts under the tree and not have to worry about stopping or waiting to get back from Church. As he flipped idly through the hymnal while the choir was working through the more obscure holiday songs, for some reason, he found himself thinking of the girl and her angel friend from a few weeks ago. He'd not seen them in church since, so either he'd imagined it, they'd not been back, or they went to a different service. 

_An angel in church on Christmas. There goes you and your imagination again, Nathan._

Closing his eyes, he let out a long breath and made the same prayer he made on every major holiday – be it Christmas, Easter or even the Fourth of July. He always made a note to say extra prayers for his biological family, wherever and whoever they were. He sometimes wondered about them, but mostly – he just said prayers of thanks that they had let him go live with his parents – who'd waited years for a kid. 

What Nate hadn't done was turn around and looked at who was sitting behind him.

To the outside observer, one would see a man in a trench coat, another in a wool one and a girl sitting between them who bore no resemblance to either, but clearly glad to be where she is. His brother hadn't known Gabriel would be joining them – the archangel had gotten there just after they sat down and had, rather boldly sat down on Heather's other side. If he'd not been in a house of worship, the archangel might have been given over to hysterics. Trying to appear nonchalant about how utterly ironic this is – angels in a church on Christmas – Gabriel actually thinks this could be fun. Given the last time they saw each other, Gabriel wasn't surprised by the small flinch Castiel gave him as he sat down. 

The archangel, however, was still trying to take in what he'd learned earlier today. He wasn't sure if he should tell the younger angel about it or not – Castiel wasn't even born at the time of the incident, Gabriel himself had buried records of Arael before his memory of her was washed away. Not to mention he couldn't trust him to _not_ tell Sam and Dean. If Sam found out, Lucifer could find out and that would just... Well, okay – he'd admit it, he _liked_ knowing something others didn't. He glanced down at the girl sitting between the two of them, noting that she was doing her best to look at anything but him. The last time Gabriel saw Heather, she was in Jasper and asleep. The sigils he marked her ribcage with are still there – and he knows why he put them there, to hide her more from Lucifer than Michael. He also knew a few things about the half-bloods that Cas doesn't. None of them had ever died from a disease – from Scarlet Fever to the Black Plague – but direct injuries and infections had done the killing that fevers and colds couldn't. He also knew that childbirth has killed half of the girls. He won't mention that either – it wasn't even certain if they could all be sitting here this time next year. He picked up the hymnal from the rack in front of him and flipped through it, checking the numbers for the songs just as the pipe organ in the choir loft started to play a rather impressive version of 'It Came Upon a Midnight Clear'. He finds the human voices to be rather impressive. He flicked through the songs again, even though he knows all these Christmas songs by heart – and could probably sing them backwards if he wanted to. All this time, however, he was very aware that Heather was trying hard not to stare at him. When he made eye contact however, she jerked her head away quickly. Skittish, he decided, was the perfect adjective to describe this Winchester. Skittish – just like her maternal grandmother. 

Heather glanced one more time at the man – angel – on her right side and then whispered to Castiel. “Who is that?”

“Gabriel.” He replied back, almost as quietly and then he glanced at the archangel. “It's all right.” Truth was, he was just as surprised to see his elder brother as Heather was. 

Heather rubbed her nose in reply, shifting again. She wagered this probably wouldn't be so weird if someone besides her could see the same thing she did. As it was, all she could do was lean back in the pew and scan the parish bulletin. 

Gabriel knew that she could see him and it's not the first time he's been seen. He'd found out in a rather shocking manner around two hundred and twenty five years ago. Exactly three muses had children who could see angels – who had a grand total of twelve all together. He can remember the tow-haired boy in the uniform of a Continental soldier – who had eyes the same shade as Heather. Of course, that boy had only seen a flash of him before riding away. 

The cantor came up to his stand and adjusted the microphone. “Welcome and Merry Christmas. We ask at this time that you please silence or turn off all cell phones and pagers.”

“I can't believe that they have to ask people to do that.” Heather said under her breath. 

Castiel, however, reached into his pocket and checked the phone and flipped it to silence. Dean had told him to never do that, no exceptions, but he would know if it went off – and if it was an emergency, one of the Winchesters would call again. If it went off twice, he'd check it. Like Gabriel, he didn't need the hymnal for the gathering song, _Adeste Fideles_ , but he picked up the book all the same. They all stood as the opening bars rang out from the choir loft behind them.

Nate, still unaware of who was behind him took a deep breath before he started to sing and then the song died in his throat. There were at least two people behind him who had voices that seemed to purge out every other in the church, he had to wonder why the cantor and choir hadn't both fallen silent and left the singing to them. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder to see if he could locate the source and his eyes went wide. The angel in the trench coat was sitting directly behind him and it appeared that now he had a friend. The second angel, however, was massive compared to the first – whereas the first one probably had a wingspan the size of a Cessna – the others' probably was closer to a seven-thirty-seven – how they could sit that close to each other he had no clue. He also noted that the girl standing between him wasn't having any trouble singing – he figured she had to be used to the pair, because how else the world possibly could she be able to do that? 

Heather looked up from the text, keeping her voice even – quite a feat, given how utterly amazing Gabriel's voice was. Castiel's voice reminded her of Josh Groban but the archangel made Andrea Bocelli sound tone deaf. When she glanced up, that was when she saw the boy in front of them looking from Gabriel to Castiel – not where their human faces were, but rather above them. She gave the boy a small wink – hoping he'd get the message: _Yeah, I see them too._

Nathan turned back around, nearly dropped his hymnal, but then found his voice – maintaining about as much volume as the girl – maybe he could talk to her after Mass.

Unknown to any of the party – although if he had concentrated, Gabriel would have seen, another person could see the two angels clearly. Noah Levin, was sitting several rows behind them and to the right. He couldn't see the two men connected to the towering figures of light – one he guessed to be about eight feet tall and the other nearly ten. He blinked once or twice and turned his attention to the front of the church, resolved that what he was seeing had to be caused by the stress of a busy semester at the college where he was a professor and the long trip he'd taken here to Sioux Falls from his home in Potomac, Maryland. Given the fact that he'd seen a ghost in his house recently, or at least, that's what he assumed it was – angels didn't seem to far fetched.

There were nutjobs on television saying they'd seen angels all the time.

**

When Dean reached for his watch on Christmas morning, he frowned when he caught sight of a small package lying next to it. The wrapping alone tells him it's not from Sam. The two of them stuck to newspaper and brown paper bags. He had placed a small package next to Sam's cell phone last night – he assumed it was a book from it's shape – Heather had asked him to give it to his brother just in case they weren't back in Sioux Falls for Christmas. “What the hell?” He picked up the smaller one and turned it over and saw the label on the underside. Slowly, a smile spread across his face. Apparently sometime last night, Sam had done the exact same thing he had – both them playing Santa Claus for the girl. He'd left a box of colored pencils back in South Dakota for her. Still chuckling, he unwrapped the bright paper that the girl had probably found stashed in a drawer at Bobby's. 

When he got the package open, he felt the grin spread across his face. Lying on the paper was a Hot Wheels car that had been turned into a key-chain. He turned the car over in his hands, already identifying it as a sixty-five Impala – that had been blue but Heather had taken the time to paint black. So it was rather cheesy – and quite frankly, if anyone else had given it to him, he might have thrown it away. Instead, he picked up his key ring from the bedside table and attached the metal and plastic car to the same ring that holds the key to his father's storage locker in New York. Setting the keys back down, he stood up and went to boil some water in the microwave for instant coffee. The weather would keep them here in Oklahoma City for the rest of the day – but first thing tomorrow, they were going back to Sioux Falls.

**

Lucifer looked calmly down at the lifeless shells of four girls at his feet. All four had black hair and olive skin, all four dressed in what should be sharp looking school uniforms. The spilled remnants of their lunch were scattered around them, the pungent smell of hot peppers bit at his vessel's senses, making his eyes sting slightly. A large puddle of yellow curry sauce intermingled with blood from the girl's wounds made an odd pattern on the large tiled floor. He nudged the nearest girl with his foot, rolling the lifeless child onto her back. He titled his head, studying her. The wound that ended her life gave her a garish second grin on her neck, matching the laughing expression the demon who'd been possessing her had trapped her face in before death. The blood of the wound was drying, turning the white collar of her blouse a crusty shade of brown. He knelt down, his face twisted in disgust. The girl's first wound was on her left wrist. 

When he'd first tried this, he had believed it would work – but it had failed. Some good had come out of it – there was another Winchester to put into play. Now, he harbored no intention whatsoever of going after the girl directly. If something were to happen to set back the Apocalypse, if, Hell and Heaven forbid, he was somehow locked back into his cage, he would need Heather Kittredge alive. If the battle between him and Michael didn't happen now, with the two brothers of the bloodline now, then it would happen in some distant time – and destroying the Winchester bloodline was out of the question. However, he had been waiting for a very, very, very long time. 

He picked up the girl's lifeless wrist and dropped it, chuckling at the sound it made as it hit the ground. There was a rumbling sound behind him and a moment later, he heard footfalls. “Is it done?”

“Yes, my lord.” The demon replied. “He wishes to know if he should stay here in Osaka or move elsewhere.”

“Oh, tell him to have a little snack... and then I want him to head to Argentina. I understand it's lovely there this time of year.” Lucifer stood and turned. “You and I have a different destination.” He folded his arms, an amused look on his face. “Where did you pick up that meat-suit?”

“The same place where one gets the best overpriced clothing for teenagers in the world: Abercrombie and Fitch.” The demon stuck his borrowed hands into the pockets of the wool coat. “I'm glad I knew how messy this was going to be, I rather like this outfit.”

The devil threw back his head and laughed. “Hurry back, we've got more work to do.” He stepped away from the carnage, frowning at the bloody shoe-prints he was leaving on the ground. It was hard to maintain his vessel, the clothing he was wearing and the Apocalypse all at the same time. Perhaps he could send the demon off to pick up a change of clothes for him – he wasn't exactly ready for the modern equivalent of a long white robe (he's waiting until Samuel Winchester says yes for that), but perhaps something that didn't make him look like a walking advertisement for the Salvation Army would be nice. But not yet – now there was more dirty work to be done. He and his companion were going back to the States.

**

Melpomene was in pain. Agonizing, burning, bordering on unbearable pain. The chains wrapped around her shoulder blades and up her arms, leaving her hanging in a manner that she could either stand at attention, or let her entire body weight be supported by her arms. It's been over two hundred years since she found herself bound in these wretched chains, but the charge against her isn't to different from the last time. In seventeen seventy seven, she hung from these chains for killing the man who slew her eldest child – William. The only child of her four that looked like her. Anael, also known as Anna, had been the one to string her up like some kind of Thanksgiving turkey. Now, through her swollen face, she glared at her current captor, Zachariah. This time the charge was 'interfering with the Plan' by saving her daughter. Clearly, the angel hadn't taken a look at the girl or he'd have known that her sending the Winchesters was part of the Plan. 

“You pagans never learn.” The angel slapped her small of her back with the flat of his sword. “I thought you'd have learned after the last time you were here.” 

“Maybe you should go to strategy meetings instead of thinking you're the biggest angel in the chorus.” She spat, coughing, a thin trickle of ichor running down her chin. 

“See, there you again, thinking you're all that.” He walked around in front of her and made a squeezing gesture with his hand. “You're not that much, really...”

Penny started to hack, blood staining the floor. It felt like the angel had just taken a firm grasp of her lungs and squeezed all the air out of them. Pain blinded her and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep her temper in check, hating the being in front of her. He was like so many other angels she'd come across – one who'd rather be respected than loved. She had to wonder if he was actually taking orders from Raphael and not Michael. 

“Now, I don't suppose you want to be a good girl and tell me where I can find the Winchesters, will you?”

“I don't know where they are.” This was the truth. “I don't see how it'd make any difference if I did, they'd still tell you to go fuck yourself.” The last earned her another blow to the back. 

“Still an insolent, disrespectful little bitch, I see.” He moved away from her, pacing slowly across the room. “What I don't get...” He turned and stared at her. “Is why the Winchester brothers should even care about that little half-blood of yours.” He moved so he was right in front of her, his face a hairs-breadth from hers. “She's just another human they've saved.”

The muse started to laugh. A dry, gurgling laugh that was punctuated with coughs as she hacked up more blood. “What do you care? _You_ don't even like humans.”

“Why should I?” He snorted and backed away from her, not wanting his clothes stained. “They're simple, stupid and imperfect.” He glared at her. 

“That's where you're wrong.” She spat out a mouthful of blood and ichor. “All you see is the bad – just like seeing nothing but the holes in a plate full of doughnuts.” She glared at him, the whites of her eyes turning blue. “You're no better than Lucifer.” 

He was across the room and had her by the neck in a flash – not with his vessel's hand – his real one. It was big enough to encompass her entire neck and the back of her head. The smell of burning hair filled her nostrils. “I am one of the _most_ loyal...”

“Stuff it, Malfoy...” She managed to squeak out as her throat constricted. She doubted the angel would get the reference.

“Zachariah.” A deep voice said from the far side of the room. “Let go of her.” 

“Michael.” The lesser angel instantly backed away, making a very poor attempt at looking contrite. “She refuses to talk.”

The archangel put a hand between Melpomene's shoulder blades, holding her down towards the ground, forcing the Muse's feet to give out from under her. He said nothing as she cried out and the whole of her weight was supported by her wrists. “She has told you the truth. She does not know where the Winchesters are.” He gazed down at the captive. “That is the only information you need to discern and nothing else matters.” 

“But the girl...”

“Damn you, Zachariah...” His voice rose, causing the room to shake. “ _I_ will worry about the half-blood brat, _you_ find the Winchesters – before Lucifer and the rest of the Fallen do.”

The seraph looked genuinely cowed this time as he left the room making soft utterances and promises to find the brothers quickly, but the loathing for both the Winchesters and Melpomene was still discernible in his voice. 

The moment the door was shut and locked, the archangel glanced at the burning chains, causing them to vanish and the muse would have collapsed on the floor, had he not caught her. Michael let her head fall against his shoulder while he ran a hand down each of her arms, causing the wounded flesh to become healed, leaving no scars behind. “Ssh...” He whispered against her ear when she whimpered. “Ssh... you're safe now...” He ran a hand down the back of her head, repairing the damaged hair. He would have liked to have killed Zachariah for this – but that would mean revealing more than he cared for the rest of Heaven to know. 

Melpomene sobbed against the archangel's neck, more out of relief than pain. The last time she and Michael were this close, it was two months before Heather was born. She'd gone back twelve years into the past to hide from Lilith and he'd followed her. He'd _known_ about her and Dean, just like he'd _always_ known who she was attracted to – and who'd she'd slept with. The other three fathers of her children had all met tragic deaths that were entirely work related – as she'd known Dean was bound for death, she figured she didn't have anything to lose. For someone so righteous, Michael was also extremely jealous. This time, however, he had not been angry – it had been her turn to be angry when she found out that this was a part of the Great Plan. Just like it had been a part of the Great Plan to send her mother to Mount Olympus and experience something no one should have to endure. In retrospect, she should have known. She was the middle sister – just like her mother had been the middle child. 

Michael let out a soft breath and helped her sit, running a hand down her back. There were so many things he'd done because it was _expected_ of him. To cast his brother out, to strike him down into Hell.. and eventually, he would have to kill Lucifer as well. The Muses were, in his opinion, the luckiest of the half-angelic creatures that walked the Earth. The Nephilim had been eradicated, of course. When he had learned the truth of the Muse's origins, he'd been stunned. But it was part of the Plan. Had the news not come directly from Arael, he would have sworn it was a story invented by the Greek Pantheon to keep him away from her girls. Or rather, keep him away from _this_ girl in particular. When you couldn't mess with humans, most angels relied on other angels for companionship of a physical nature. Some, however, turned to pagan gods who were willing to ignore the whole 'able to smite you with a single thought' thing – or in the case of the gods, using it as a method to buy more time before being eradicated. That had been shortly after Gabriel vanished to parts unknown. What Michael had needed in those days was a friend. A friend who wasn't just being nice because he was their superior, or because they felt obligated to.

He wanted someone who he could talk to about how, deep down, he absolutely hated The Plan. There was no one in Heaven he could tell that to – that was disobedience. Melpomene had been the first being who he came across who recognized him for what he really was. She'd been sitting rather placidly on a stump in the middle of a barren field, eating a raw potato. Her first reaction had been to run away – and for good reason. The day he'd struck Lucifer down into his cage, she'd been there – along with her sister, Erato and two of her uncles – Hades and Hephaestus. The impact had killed the Greek god of the Dead, or rather, a back-swing of Lucifer's blade had. Michael's own sword had swung back and crippled its maker. A moment after the cage slammed shut, right behind his back – the first seal had been locked into place – when an innocent hand shed the blood of the guilty. To this day, Michael is certain almost no one else knows what truly happened to Persephone – who proved to be no more faithful to her husband than her father was to Hera. The two muses, who at that time appeared no more than thirteen, had been horribly frightened as they managed to stumble up the dark path, carrying their uncle's wounded body between them – Melpomene only paused to clean her sword on the robe of Hades. But that was long ago, even by his reckoning when he met the muse in that field.

The first thing he'd noticed was that she'd grown up.

That had been the beginning. When he'd returned home even his little trip had been part of The Plan. His trip's outcome determined one thing: the Muse who'd be the mother of the Continuance. Just like Mary Winchester had been destined to become of the mother of the Vessels, so to was Melpomene's destiny. He let out another breath as he felt the muse stir slightly in his arms. “I'm sorry.”

She winced. “It's not your fault Zachariah's an asshole.” She pulled away and rubbed her face. “I'll be okay. I've felt worse.”

“I...” He shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” She narrowed her eyes. “I can't believe you had the audacity to come in here looking like _Matthias_.” 

The archangel shook his head. “Well, one can't exactly be subtle in these times.”

“How long have I been up here? Earth time?”

“A week – it's December twenty-sixth.”

“I take it I'm officially released from prison?”

“Yes.” He put a tentative hand on her back, expecting her to jerk away from him like she usually did. This time however, she didn't – he slowly started to rub it in slow circles. He can see the faint burn marks starting to fade there as well. She'd become a part of this unwillingly – the three sisters who had come willingly – Clio, Erato and Urania – they had been granted a request. To them, he was a cold, unflinching, merciless angel of the Lord. To Penny, however – her reward came in the form of being the one of the privileged few who actually knew how he really was. He closed his eyes as he felt her relax against him, almost dozing. 

Michael still doesn't want to kill his brother – but if he must do it, then he must. He also misses his other siblings – Gabriel and Arael. He imagines they would like to come home – how he would love to throw the doors open and gather them back into the fold. But his brother is in self imposed exile – and his sister is barred from returning until the day the youngest archangel receives the final order of Armageddon. His sister can't come home – nor can her daughters come with – until the Final Trumpet – at the end of all things, at the end of the Universe. 

It's a very big universe and the end of it is a very, very, very, long time away. Earth is just one little planet – it is merely the _first_ planet and the _final_ planet is still cooling down from the Creation. Even if Lucifer conquers this world, Heaven forbid – there are others, other worlds he hasn't yet found. Should that occur, the one hundred and forty four thousand will be gathered and taken to the next world – to begin again. It exhausts him when he thinks of it, so he closes his eyes, rests his head against Melpomene's and waits while she stays in recovery sleep in his arms. 

For some reason, that's enough for now.


	13. When The Earth Moves Again

It was just before sunset when the Impala rolled into it's parking spot in the Singer Salvage Yard. A massive ice storm in Kansas and Nebraska had kept the brothers in Oklahoma City until the twenty-seventh and when the window between storms opened up, they'd left as quickly as the could get the car dug out. Another storm was due in late tonight and Dean couldn't honestly remember a winter as severe as this one in recent memory. He wasn't sure if it was due to the Apocalypse or just the normal weather cycle playing itself out. He was actually leaning towards the later, as his dad had once told him it snowed three feet in Lawrence two weeks before he was born. There'd been literal walls of snow in Kansas City where every cross-street had been turned into a four-way stop. Truth be told, Dean couldn't imagine snow _that_ heavy, even with all the blizzards he'd seen in the Dakotas, Montana and New England. 

Sam got out of the car and stretched. “Looks like Jo and Ellen aren't here yet.”

“They've got two days.” Dean said, shutting the driver's side door. “If they're coming, that is.”

“Bobby said they were.” He followed his brother to the trunk and removed his duffel bag as well as the bag that held their dirty laundry. “Or at least, they're hoping to be.”

“He say when the last time he talked to them was?” 

“Yesterday – they've left Maine and are now in Connecticut – according to Ellen, the demon's playing a sadistic version of leap frog.”

“Good thing those states are all pretty small over there.” Dean tossed his bag over his shoulder as they headed for the ramp and up to Bobby's porch. “Looks like someone's been doing a good job of keeping this cleaned off.”

“Well, it's not like Heather has a lot to do.” Sam replied. 

After they got inside and set down their bags in the two empty bedrooms on the second floor, Sam had said he wanted to lie down for a few hours – and just enjoy some solitude. The drive had been hard on both of them – and he knew that they both needed some serious time alone. Sleep was a rare luxury for them and even then, it was hard to enjoy peace and quiet in a shared hotel room. He knew he was a horrid snorer, but his brother talked in his sleep – constantly. 

Bobby hadn't made any remarks when the two of them had come in other than a warm hello and a customary shot of holy water – these days, he wasn't trusting the tattoos the brothers had. After all the things that had happened, it was a better safe than sorry ordeal. Hell, he even made Heather drink some of the water when she came back in from salting and shoveling the porch. Although he knew that he'd hear her scream if something came after her – but you just never knew. 

Dean came downstairs into the study and found what had to be one of the oddest things he'd seen in a while. Heather and Bobby were teamed up against Cas in a game of Trivial Pursuit. The air was thick with the smell of onions and garlic, making his stomach rumble slightly. He stood for a moment to just let the scene sink in – and did his best not to laugh. An empty bowl was next to Heather while Bobby was still eating from his – the smell, it transpired, was pasta sauce. He skirted around the room and headed for the kitchen to get a serving. As he was dishing up, he heard Cas's voice reading from one of the cards.

“What was the country of Iran formerly known as?” 

A moment later, Bobby's voice answered. “Persia.” He said in a gruff tone. 

“Correct.” There was a shuffling noise and then a pause. “I do not believe either of you know the answer to this question.” 

“Just read the card, you idjit.” 

Dean snorted, assuming that the question had to be some completely obscure sports fact. Athletics had to be Bobby's least knowledgeable area and he guessed Heather knew even less. He served himself a bowl of spaghetti from the pot on the stove and then slathered it with sauce before he made his way back to the study as Cas posed the question.

“Who left a note on the door saying 'Sonny, move out to the country'?”

Leaning against the threshold, the hunter repressed a smile. Dean wasn't one-hundred percent sure of what he'd say – but he was fairly sure that none of the three people knew the answer at all. However, he was proven wrong a moment later when Heather answered.

“That was Mama Leone.” She grinned. “So said Billy Joel.” 

“How'd you know that?” Dean asked from the doorway.

“Have you seen the music that people my age are supposed to be obsessed with these days? If Miley Cyrus had kept her wholesome attitude and her clothes on, I might consider her decent – and don't get me started on the Jonas Brothers.” She picked up her empty bowl and Bobby's and went into the kitchen for another helping of dinner for both of them.

“Good, means you don't have to be deprogrammed.” Dean replied, moving to sit in the empty desk chair. “Who's winning?”

“I am.” Castiel said, frowning as Bobby rolled the dice and moved to the yellow square for a pie piece. “Though they have answered the last nine questions correctly.” 

Heather came back into the room and handed Bobby his bowl before sitting back down. “Well, it's not like angels keep track of the Triple Crown winners...” She offered. 

Bobby chuckled. “We use what we can, kid.”

The angel studied the card for a moment and then turned it over, frowning at the answer. “I believe this game has made an error...”

“This edition was new twenty years ago, it's bound to have a few errors.” Bobby replied.

“That would explain this question about East Germany.” He answered before reading the card.

*

The game ended an hour later, with Castiel winning, surprising all of them by knowing who Nadia Comaneci was and that she made history at the Olympic Games in Montreal by scoring a perfect ten. Also by that time, Sam had come downstairs and was eating his dinner in the kitchen while Heather washed the rest of the dishes and Dean filled Bobby in on what had happened down in Texas. Apart from talk of werewolves and angels going Glen Close, there wasn't much to tell. Bobby was less enthused about the brothers trusting a pagan goddess, but he said at least it wasn't a demon. Sam said nothing in a retort to that, having the distinct feeling that the phrase was being directed towards him. He knew that his brother had forgiven him for the whole thing with Ruby, but he didn't think Bobby was entirely ready to let the matter go completely. Truth be told, Sam hadn't been to keen on having Clio help them either – but Cas had stated she was the most reliable of the Muses and questioning the angel's judgment wasn't something he wanted to do.

“You want some more bread?” Heather asked from the stove.

“What?” He looked up. “Uh, I'm good thanks.”

“Sure.” She went back to putting things away. 

He speared a meatball on his fork. “How have things been here?”

She shrugged as she started to dry the bowls. “Quiet, I guess. Uncle Bobby has me reading a lot of books.”

“Learn anything interesting?”

“Interesting, yes – and enough to make me start to wonder if any of the kids I used to go to school with weren't lying about monsters in their closets and under their beds when we were in first grade.”

He stabbed at another meatball. “I'd say if it didn't attack them, I'd say there probably was nothing there. You ever had a monster under your bed?”

“Of course not... though I was scared of the dark.”

“That's normal.” Sam replied. “Few people aren't.” He ate the last of his pasta and brought his dish to the sink. “Maybe if the weather is good we can practice shooting tomorrow. I'm willing to bet Dean wouldn't mind coming along this time.”

“Maybe.” She took the bowl and started to clean it. 

Shrugging, he picked up a towel and started to dry the clean dishes. Just as he set down the first plate, a lashing sound came from outside as the freezing rain started. “Then again, maybe we'll have to spend it inside.”

“Whatever.” She hunched over and scrubbed at a stubborn spot on a bowl. 

Sam glanced sideways at her, frowning ever so slightly. Something was rather off about her behavior. “You okay?”

She rinsed the bowl off and handed it to him. “I'm fine, Sam.” 

He knew by her tone alone that she was lying to him. “You sure about that?”

Heather bit her lip, frowning. “It's not something I want to talk about.” She meant it too – there wasn't much she wanted to discuss with anyone anymore, because talking did absolutely no good. 

He picked up a handful of silverware and started to rub it dry. “Okay.” He decided to let the matter drop for now. But something was wrong – it wasn't grief talking, it was something else. He'd heard her two hours ago, sounding cheerful and not at all upset. In fact, she'd not really gotten tense until the two of them were alone in the kitchen together. Maybe, just maybe, he was imagining that, but in his experience, things like that never were. He also had a feeling that if Dean asked her what was wrong, he'd be the one to get a straight answer. He made a note to bring that up with his brother after Heather went to bed.

**

Claire Novak stared into the medicine cabinet of the bathroom and frowned. With all the flurry of the holidays – melancholy as they were for the second year in a row, her mom had forgotten to add 'decongestant' to the shopping list. Either that, or it had been on there and she had forgotten to get it – again. Both Claire and her dad suffered from allergies in every season but winter and in winter, the two of them caught colds instead. Sighing, she opened the bottle of painkillers and shook out two tablets – it was better than nothing – and if anything, it might get rid of her headache as well. After tossing back the pills along with a swallow of water, she made her way back to her bedroom. She wanted her dad to come home. She knew that Castiel would take good care of him, of course, but couldn't they come see her and her mom? Maybe just at church – when she and her mom had their turn at sorting the canned goods for the homeless shelters in St. Louis? Her mom was starting to lose hope that her dad would ever come home. Just a little reassurance would be nice... no matter how slim it was.

She climbed back into bed, tucking the blankets under her chin. Despite the late hour, she could hear her mom clicking away at the keyboard of the computer in her office. Working into the night at her job, trying to make up for the lost time due to the holidays – or get ahead of the New Year's rush. Claire knew her mother had taken on a lot more work – struggling to make the ends meet now that her dad's salary wasn't a part of their income. They weren't poor – and they weren't in danger of losing their home, but Amelia Novak sometimes worked like they were. Trying her best to clear her mind, she closed her eyes and slowly the clicking grew distant as she fell asleep.

She wasn't sure how much later it was when she woke up, but she did know what woke her up – a crash. Sitting bolt upright in bed, she listened for a moment, trying to see if she could tell where the sound had come from. Her mom had knocked over her desk lamp several times every now and then, but it sounded bigger than that. A moment later, a scream punctuated the air. “Mom?” She jumped out of bed and ran to her door, throwing it open. “Mom are you okay?” She was about to start towards her mom's room when she saw something that made her blood run cold. Something was in the hallway – something she couldn't see – the only reason she knew it was there was dirt from an overturned potted plant was moving.

Steeling herself up, she ran back into her room, dove to the floor, grabbed the iron poker she'd started keeping there after her father left the last time, crawled into her closet and slammed the door, coating the entryway with salt – she'd kept the container on a shelf inside. The only reason Claire even kept these things in her room was because Castiel told her too – it was a precautionary measure. Clutching the poker tightly, she heard her mother scream again – and then it was abruptly cut off. She swallowed hard, staring at the door, praying that whatever had shown up in the house would just leave – not that she expected it to – but still... 

_Daddy, I'm scared. Daddy, where are you? Daddy tell Castiel to come back here, please..._

Her mind raced as she heard something snarl just outside the door, something that sounded massive. The heavy breathing reminded her of that huge dog their neighbors had – some kind of mixed breed, half Saint Bernard and half Great Dane. Then it barked – a horrid, sharp, deadly sound that could probably drown out any shout of help she might have given. She held the poker tighter, resolved that if she had to fight the beast, she'd try to stab it in the eyes. _But if I can't see it, how do I know where it's eyes are?_ Why hadn't a neighbor come by yet to see what the noise was all about? Was this all a bad dream? What was going on? 

“Down.” A voice said from outside the closet. “Heel.” There was a sound of the creature moving away from the closet and then there were footsteps. “You made this way to hard on yourself little girl.”   
The door didn't open, as Claire expected it too. She steeled herself against the wall, still holding the poker for all she was worth as things fell staccato in her room. She wasn't sure what everything was, other than a thump that was accompanied by an evil hiss – that had to have been her Bible. The sound of something very solid being slammed against the wall caused her to jump and then came something worse than the noise. 

Silence.

_I'll get out of here and run as fast as I can to the Kerrin's house across the street. They'll let me use their phone, I can call the Winchester brothers – they can find Castiel. If all else fails, I can go out the window, onto the porch – there's no ice out there... it doesn't matter that I'm barefooted, it's going to be okay, mom's going to be okay..._

While in this litany of steeling herself up, Claire wasn't aware of what was going on outside the door. She pulled a pair of shoes on, not an easy feat to do while maintaining her grip on the poker. But as she stood up, wielding the iron weapon like a club, awareness slammed back into her with all the force of a Mack truck. Something was slowly making it's way underneath the door, something wispy and gray. Smoke. 

“Oh...oh... damn...” She didn't even think about the fact that she's sworn, her instincts kicked in and she set a hand against the door – it wasn't hot. Strange how she remembered to check the door for heat... and then, poker still in hand, she put her hand to the knob and turned it. The door failed to swing outward. “What?” She put her shoulder into it, pushing as hard as she could to get the door open. Now she knew what the large crash had been. The wardrobe – Great Grandma Novak's wooden wardrobe that weighed at least five hundred pounds was against the door. The wardrobe that had always in her mind, fit the one that the Pevensie Children had to have found in Professor Kirke's house in England that took them to Narnia. The same wardrobe that was so heavy, it'd taken her dad and two of her uncles to move. She shoved against the door again, praying that it'd move. She didn't need much space, just a little... she was small, wasn't she? 

She dropped the poker and put her whole weight into the door, though it didn't even budge. More smoke was coming under the door now and for the first time, she coughed. _If there's a fire, the neighbors will see it and call for help..._ She pushed again, glad that the door was still cool enough for her to touch it. How long would it take until the mahogany wardrobe caught fire? Would there be enough time for the firemen to find her? She pushed against the door one more time before she bent over, coughing hard. The closet wasn't all that big, it barely classified as a walk-in. She wished she had a bottle of water to soak some of her clothes in so she could save off the smoke. _I am going to die in here._ She swallowed hard, resolving not to cry. _I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, please, someone hear me! Castiel can you hear me? Please, please, hear me, someone hear me..._ The smoke was starting to sweep under the door in larger puffs, making her hack and wheeze. She wasn't sure if she should just close her eyes and wait for the end or waste oxygen trying to break free.

In the darkness, Claire blindly reached up towards the hangers and grabbed her dad's University of Illinois sweatshirt that would have ended up in the Goodwill if she'd not swiped it from the bag her mom had put together. Holding it tightly against her, she squeezed her eyes shut, willing for this all to be a nightmare. Now she could hear the fire raging in the house, the pop of random things exploding in other rooms, she tried to think of something, anything to ease her mind as she coughed again, leaning against the wall. _Someone, anyone... please..._

She closed her eyes once and when she opened them, black dots swirled in her vision.

_So this is dying._

She remembered the brief time she'd been Castiel's vessel, how warm and safe she'd felt then. She let that feeling wash over her and she opened her eyes again as she heard a crash. 

_That was probably the banister, or something._

She closed her eyes again and this time, she kept them closed, so she didn't see the closet door open and see the figure run into the narrow space and shake her once. “Claire?”

Claire blinked her eyes open, looking perplexed at the person in front of her, she was unfamiliar but yet, she had a feeling like she knew her. “You're a funny looking angel..” Her head lolled to the side and she passed out. She wasn't aware that she was picked up and carried out of the inferno that had completely engulfed the Novak home.

**

Noah arrived home from his sister's house tired. Travel always took a lot out of him – and this trip was no exception. He'd come home to the empty house – knowing that his ex would be keeping Wesley until after New Years. He had plans to go out with some of his fellow professors for the actual holiday – he wasn't the only divorced one among them. He'd been home for two days and was about to start on his laundry – a long overdue chore when there was the sound of a car in the drive caused him to pause. Glancing out the laundry room window, he saw the black Town Car and instantly frowned. It had government plates. “This can't be good.” He took a deep breath and headed towards the front door, checking his appearance in the hall mirror right before the bell rang. He was silently thankful he'd shoveled the drive and walk yesterday. He took a deep breath and opened the door. “Yes?”

Two men in black suits – with white masks over their mouths and noses faced him. One was tall and African American, the other was slightly shorter and might have been Indian or Hispanic.“Noah Levin?”

“Yes?” He was amazed he could keep calm, despite how nervous this was making him.

“Agents Crawford and Barton, CDC.” The Indian agent said.

“Were you on US Airways Flight One-Six-Four from Chicago to Regan International on December twenty-seventh?” Said the other.

He straightened his shoulders. “I'm not sure of the flight number, but yes, I was on a plane from Chicago to DC on that day.”

“We need you to come with us, please.” The second man said. “Along with any family members who are currently at home.”

Noah was suddenly very glad he'd not started cooking his dinner yet. “Let me get my coat and set the alarm.”

“Of course sir.” The first agent – who he guessed was Barton replied.

He went into the kitchen, turned off the coffee pot and as he pulled his coat on, he was very glad he'd gotten dressed for the day and not chosen to spend the day loafing around in sweats. He set the alarm, stepped outside onto the porch and locked the door. “I don't suppose you can tell me what this is about?”

Crawford walked next to him as Barton had gone ahead and started the car. “I'm afraid that's classified.”

“Right.” Noah said as the agent opened the back door for him and shut it after he was in. He swallowed hard as the car started back down his driveway. As he looked out the front window, he could swear he could see the boy in the soldier's uniform staring down at him from the window in the attic. He took a deep breath and settled into the seat. Hopefully – just hopefully – this wouldn't take very long.

**

The ice storm in South Dakota finally did what two blizzards couldn't – it'd knocked the power out. The ice and snow had gone on for two whole days, leaving all five of them – Castiel included, as he stated flying during inclement weather would only hinder his grace further - stranded. The power had gone out at around ten in the morning on the first day. On the morning of the third day, New Year's Eve, the sun shone balefully over the prairie. Heather came downstairs, shivering slightly, now that she was free from the warmth of her bed that had been piled with extra blankets. The angel had taken up the task of keeping the fires in the wood burning stove and the fireplace going through the night. Everything was down – including cell and land phone lines. The one good thing was that there was still running water – that, more than anything, made the situation bearable. She went into the main room where Castiel was sitting, reading and Dean was sitting in a chair next to the fire, staring into his coffee mug. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Dean said, glancing up. “How'd you sleep?”

Heather shuffled over to the couch and sat down. “I could have done without the weird dream with Charles Epps trying to teach me Calculus, but other than that, not bad.”

“Who the hell is Charles Epps?” He frowned.

“He's a character on a show called _Numb3rs._ He's like this math genius who's always helping out his older brother who works for the FBI. Why he was teaching me Calc when I'd settle for Algebra, I don't know.”

“Crazy.” Dean glanced over at Cas. “You've been staring at the same page for the past hour, Cas.”

“I am well aware of that, Dean.” He glanced up. “This is a most interesting novel.”

“You're reading fiction?” A grin slowly spread across his face. “What is it?”

“A story called _Rebecca_.” He frowned. “I do not understand why the narrator is only identified as Mrs. DeWinter.” 

“I've never read it.” Dean snorted. “Sounds like a chick book.” He looked over at Heather. “You read it?”

“No, but I've seen both movie versions of it.”

“Wait a minute... I think do know the story... Alfred Hitchcock made a movie called _Rebecca_.”

“Yeah, it's the only Hitchcock movie I've seen.” Heather answered, going into the kitchen.

“Wait, you've only seen one Hitchcock film?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Uh huh.” She came back into the room carrying a glass of juice.

“Why not more of them?” 

“Because I'm not allowed to watch movies like that.” She rocked back and forth on her heels. “It's not like there's bad language or anything, but I think the worry is that they'll give me nightmares.”

“Phew..” He glanced at Cas who'd gone back to reading, having turned a page in the book. “You have seen a rated R movie, haven't you?”

Castiel looked up at that. He knew that tone – he'd had it used on him in an abandoned house in Maine.

“Of course I have.” She took a sip of juice. “I've seen five of them.”

Looking utterly amused, Dean leaned back in his seat. “Do tell.”

“I've seen _Glory, Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan, The Patriot_ and _United 93_.”

“Dean, she is only thirteen years old.”

“Exactly! By the time I was her age, I'd lost count of how many rated R movies I'd seen.”

“That is because you were frequently left unsupervised with access to things children should not have access too. Heather has had a completely different upbringing from you and your brother. ”

“I know that, but still!” He set his mug down.

“I do not believe the fact that she has only seen five of these films matters greatly. I have only seen two of the films she has mentioned.”

“What's wrong with you two?” Dean looked from Cas to Heather and back. “You both need some serious work in the world of entertainment.”

“I do not believe what you call entertainment qualifies as something Heather or I should be seeing. I could also comment that you, Dean Winchester – suffer from a severe deficiency in the world of literature.”

Heather set her glass down. “I'll let you two sit here and bicker like an old married couple... I'll go out and get another load of firewood.” She picked up the empty carrier and hauled it towards the kitchen door. She didn't hear either of their reactions to her statement as she pulled on boots, her coat, mittens and a scarf. She opened the door and was instantly chilled as she shut it behind her. She had no idea what the wind chill was, but her estimate was that it was well below zero. She'd read the _Little House_ books, and if they were to be believed, winters in South Dakota meant it got to fifty below almost _regularly._ She started to stack the wood quickly into the carrier, and she was on her fifth log when she noticed an odd smell. 

She stopped, despite the cold, sat back on her heels for a moment and sniffed. It was a strange smell that reminded her of black olives and even weirder, rust. It wasn't entirely unfamiliar – she knew she'd smelled it before – it made her think of the meat department of a grocery store. She slowly stood up and glanced down the porch, expecting to see perhaps a frozen animal, half picked apart by a hawk or buzzard – or it could be the trash...although that didn't make sense either, as there had been very little of it the past two days. Something seemed to move just out of the corner of her eye and she turned to face directly into the salvage yard. For a full minute she just stood there, staring. Her mind, voice and body were all disconnected, unable to completely processes what was in front of her. Reality slammed back into her with all the force of the arctic gale that whipped against the house and her at the same moment. She did the only thing in the world that made sense. She screamed.

Icicles rained off the porch at the sound of her voice, shattering against the ground as she kept screaming – she didn't think she _could_ stop screaming. She didn't hear the door slam open and she didn't even know she wasn't alone until she felt two hands grab her shoulders and shake her once. 

Castiel looked from the two Winchesters towards the direction Heather was looking and then a scream tore through his mind as he took the sight in and Jimmy Novak saw through his eyes what the others had seen. 

_NO! NO! NO! OH GOD, CASTIEL, NO!_

Dean had picked Heather up as if she had weighed next to nothing and hauled her back inside and Castiel was vaguely aware of the man telling him to get inside, but he couldn't. He couldn't take his eyes away from the sight. Twenty feet away, in full view from the porch and the windows on this side of the house were two long poles. He judged they might be ten feet tall – but it was hard to tell – they were half buried in snow. It was hard to judge what had happened and to try and find the words to ease Jimmy's screaming at the same time. But he knew who was behind this – Lucifer. In the rage of the storm last night, someone – demons, most likely, had come into the salvage yard, using the foul weather as cover. 

“What's going on, Cas?” He heard Sam's voice behind him and he slowly turned, his expression grim. When he moved, he gave the younger Winchester a full view of the sight that had sent Heather into sheer terror and Jimmy into unimaginable agony. On each of the two spikes was a head. One was Amelia Novak. 

The other was Ellen Harvelle.

_CASTIEL, FIND CLAIRE! PLEASE, CAS... FIND CLAIRE!!!_

Swallowing hard, the angel took Sam roughly by the arm and shoved him back inside, grabbing the carrier that Heather had brought outside. _I'm going to find her James – even if I have to go back into Hell barefoot to do it._ He'd promised the man two years ago that he wouldn't let anything happen to his family. He was unable to save Amelia... he would not fail to find the man's daughter. 

**

Claire wasn't sure how long she'd been sleeping. She wasn't even sure where she'd been sleeping. Her mind slowly put together a few disconnected thoughts. She remembered the fire, being trapped in her closet – and then someone had been in the doorway. She thought it had to be an angel – but it was probably a fireman. She squeezed her eyes, thinking. She was certain she was going to open her eyes and find herself at Barnes Hospital in St. Louis – they had a burn center. A member of their church would be there, maybe Minister Peters, or even the youth group leader, Sara Muraski. She winced and then opened her eyes a crack, telling herself she was prepared to see the institutional look of a hospital room – and know her mom wasn't going to be there. What she saw, however, didn't make sense. 

She saw a small table, on which there was an expensive looking lamp with a glass shade in tones of green, blue and purple. There was also a small clock with Roman numerals on the face, telling her that it was three o'clock. Night or day – she wasn't sure. She was guessing day. “Weird...” She opened her eyes wider and slowly sat up. She _definitely_ wasn't in a hospital. She was in a very soft bed that was on one side of a room – opposite of a fireplace. The only reason she knew this couldn't be Heaven was because she was hungry. People did not feel hungry in Heaven – at least, she didn't think so, and besides, if this was Heaven, her mom would be here. There was a large painting on one of the on the wall to her left, it was a ship caught in a storm. Still taking in the room, she saw on the wall above the fireplace was a large mirror in an ornate frame – and it also made the room seem larger than it really was. “Where am I?” She saw another table at the foot of the bed, where her father's sweatshirt had been neatly folded – clearly left there for her to see it. She swallowed, rubbing her arms and that's when she realized she wasn't in the clothes she'd gone to bed in. Nothing about this room, save the sweatshirt, seemed to be simple or plain. The pajamas she was wearing was even proof of that. The fabric was too soft – she couldn't even think what kind of cloth would be this soft. They were an off-white color with a faint jacquard pattern of irises. She pushed the blankets aside, getting ready to do some investigating into this strange trip she was taking down the rabbit hole – _this can't be right_ – when the door on the same wall as the painting opened up and a woman walked through it.

“Oh, you're awake.” She came over to the bed and set a tray down on the bedside table. 

“Who...” She coughed. “Where...”

“Here.” The woman handed her a glass of water. “It will help.”

Something instinctively told Claire to trust the woman, so she took the offered glass and slowly took a sip. The lady was right – it did help... a little. She held onto the glass as the woman moved the pillows behind her, propping her up. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” She sat down in a chair that Claire hadn't noticed before that was next to the table. 

“Where am I?” She frowned. “This isn't Heaven, is it?”

“No.” The woman smiled. “You're some place safe.”

“Did Castiel send you to get me?” This was the only thing that made sense. Maybe this woman was another angel's vessel and she was taking care of her for him.

“No, he didn't.” She shifted in her seat. “How you came to be here and how we knew how to get you is a very, very long story.”

“Who brought me here?” She frowned. The woman she'd seen outside her closet had been blond – this woman had red hair. She took another sip of water.

“Clio did.” She folded her hands and rested them on one of her knees. “She's in her own room, resting.”

“How long have I been here?”

“You've been sleeping for two days... I was starting to get worried about you, Claire Novak.”

“How do you...” She lowered her glass. “You're not... God, are you?”

“I am not God... or, I suppose I should say I am not _the_ God.”

Claire frowned – if she didn't know better, she would think the woman just quoted Groundhog Day. “I... don't understand.” She set the glass down, trying to comprehend what was going on. “How...” She glanced at the painting, as if they held an answer and then back to the woman. “Are you one of those... supernatural things I should have been warned about?”

“I'm not the most dangerous thing lurking in the shadows... I'm only dangerous to things that are evil – and you're not evil.”

She hugged her knees. “So are you... an angel or something?”

“I'm a something.” She stood up. “Are you hungry?”

“A little...” She pushed the blankets back. “I am allowed to get up, right?”

“Of course.” 

Claire slid her legs around and wasn't surprised to find a pair of slippers waiting there. This was like some very strange fairy tale... in fact, she was pretty sure she'd read a story like this at some point. “Um...” She stood up and looked at the woman, whom she was nearly as tall as. “What do I call you?” 

“You can call me Thea. Almost everyone around here does.” She walked towards the door and Claire followed. There was a short hallway with one of those magic-eye pictures hanging in it and then they came into a room that Claire guessed was about the size of the family room at her house. On one side of the room was an alcove in which there was a long table. While it could comfortably sit ten – there were only three places laid – one was empty and, she had a feeling, waiting for her. The second was occupied by another girl, probably a few years older than her. She had blond hair and seemed very out of place in this opulent room, dressed in a red shirt that, as they drew closer, Claire recognized as one of the two they sold on the back of _Muse_ magazine. The third place setting had a meal that was half finished on the plate.

“Annie, is your sister back?” Thea said to the girl.

The girl looked up. “Penny got in a few minutes ago... she's more tired than injured – and Clio's still sleeping.” She shifted her gaze to Claire. “Hello.”

“Hi.” She felt very confused. The girl at the table was way to old to be Thea's daughter – Thea didn't look old enough to have any kids who were any older than twelve. 

“Have a seat.” Annie made a gesture with her hand and the chair scooted back. “Atty won't mind you using her chair.”

“I'm going to go check on the two of them.” Thea looked down at Claire. “You go ahead and eat.” She turned to Annie. “Urania, do not let her drink any wine.”

“Nai, maman, I know.” 

Claire watched as Thea left through another door and then looked at the chair. “Uh...”

Urania looked up from her plate of poached eggs. “Aren't you hungry?”

“Yeah...” She slid into the chair and looked at the covered dishes. Something about this felt very wrong, sitting here in an opulent apartment, in expensive clothing and.... her mom was... her mom was... She swallowed hard. “I...” 

“Your mom would want you to eat.” The girl answered her thoughts. She stood up, took the empty plate from in front of Claire and started filling it with eggs, hash-browns, toast and bacon. “As soon as my mom finds out where Castiel is, I'll go and bring him here.”

“You know Castiel?”

“Vaguely.” She set the plate back down. “Eat up. You need your strength.”

Swallowing hard, Claire took the folded napkin from it's place and set it in her lap. The silverware was heavy in her hand as she picked up the fork and scooped up a small bite of potatoes. When she tasted them, they weren't as good as her dad's... but they weren't half bad. She took another forkful. “You're name is Urania?”

“Uh huh.” She responded, picking up a piece of bacon from her plate and nibbled at it. 

Claire glanced at the girl's shirt, able to read it easily from across the table. “Like the Muse?”

“Exactly like.” She finished the piece of bacon. “If you don't want to talk, you don't have to.”

Shrugging, Claire went back to eating. Everything on her plate was delicious – she even liked the poached eggs – something she'd never had before. The toast was definitely the best thing on the menu however because it was either that it was made from some seriously good multi-grain bread or the fact that there was a dish full of blackberry preserves to slather on top of it. Her favorite. Thea had been right – the food did help a little. Knowing that this girl across the table was going bring Castiel here also helped too. That made her wonder just what sort of beings these two were – if they could go find an angel and actually bring him to... wherever this place was. She finally looked up from her plate as the door opened again and Thea came back into the room. 

“One of these days...” She muttered something else under her breath in a language that Claire didn't recognize. “Annie, I'm afraid you're in for a cold trip.”

“I can deal with cold, maman.” She finished off another piece of bacon and started to wipe her fingers on her napkin. 

Thea set about fixing two plates of toast – drizzling one serving with honey and slathering the other with peanut butter. “You're going to have to go to Sioux Falls. If he's not there, there are people there who know how to get a hold of him. And you are not to go using your camera phone while you're there.”

Urania stood up. “I know.” She took a deep breath. “And I know not to bring the Winchester brothers here. Should I tell them why I can't?”

“You probably should. According to Penny, the two of them can get a little demanding.”

Claire lowered her fork. “You know the Winchesters too?”

Thea finished with the toast. “It's a very complicated story, Claire.” She looked down at the two plates. “I'm going to go take these to the two invalids and then I will do my best to explain what's going on.” She went out of the room.

“Okay.” She turned back to her plate, frowning.

“I'll try and hurry back.” Urania said, heading for the door as well. “Uh, it's best if you don't leave this room – for now, at least.”

Claire nodded.“Sure” Truth was, she was actually starting to feel rather comfortable – considering the circumstances.

“Back shortly....” She went out the door and shut it behind her.

Thea back into the room a moment later and sat down at the head of the table. The woman picked up the glass of orange juice that was at her place and took a sip from it. “You like to read, Claire?”

“Yeah, I guess so...” She nibbled at another piece of toast. The woman looked up at the ceiling for a moment and she could tell that she was thinking.

“Have you read the _Percy Jackson_ series?”

“I did...I'm not sure if I liked it better than _Harry Potter_ or not... what does that have to do with anything?”

“I can tell you this... Mount Olympus is not on the five hundredth floor of the Empire State Building.”

“Of course it's not, that's only a story.... just like Greek Myths are...” She dropped her toast. “Wait a minute... are you saying you're... you're...”

“That's right.” She took another sip of orange juice.

“Am I going to be in trouble for being here?” Her eyes widened. “You do know that I'm a Christian, right?”

“So are the majority of my grandchildren – the rest are Jewish. This doesn't get held against you, believe me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Do you think the Christians who go on trips to places in the East and visit Buddhist temples are in trouble?”

“No.” She looked back down at her plate. “So this is... so this is like I'm taking a vacation to Greece?”  
“Something like that, yes.”

“Is your name really Thea?”

“No, my name is Mnemosyne. Everyone just calls me Thea.” She set her glass down. “The rest will have to wait until Castiel gets here.”

“Why?”

“Because there are a few things he needs to hear as well... and it's better if you're told at the same time.”

Claire swallowed hard and looked back down at her plate, picking up her toast and started nibbling at it again. She wanted her mom – or her dad. Either would be good right now. _Castiel is coming – that means dad's coming soon..._ She kept repeating that to herself as she finished eating.


	14. The Why

This wasn't how the Winchesters wanted to spend their New Year's Eve. Dean gently placed another log on small pyre he was building. It was the smallest one he'd ever had to build – and he prayed he'd never have to make a smaller one. He didn't want to think about where the rest of Ellen and Amelia's bodies were. He also wanted to know where Jo and Claire were – he had a feeling that they were still alive, or at least, he hoped they were. Cell phone service was still down, leaving them cut off from anyone who might be close enough to do some investigating. Dean shook his head, cursing the bad weather – it'd be a few days before the roads would be clear enough for him and Sam to make tracks towards Illinois. He was seriously considering just telling Cas to zap him or Sam over there to start looking. He knew that the fact that Cas hadn't already made tracks for Pontiac was because he'd be recognized as Jimmy Novak – and that would just be another disaster on top of this one. 

The early afternoon air was bitterly cold and oddly fresh. He set down one more log and backed away from the pyre as he heard the crunch of snow behind him. Turning, he saw the angel carrying a small white bundle as if it where a baby. Dean didn't think he'd ever seen Cas look more devastated than he did at that moment. There weren't even words he could think of to say – he didn't think there were any.  
Castiel gently placed the white bundle on the wood. “Sam is coming with Ellen.” He backed away. “I do not know why Lucifer attacked her. She had no part in this.”

Dean set a hand on the angel's shoulder, unable to speak. He'd had a few bad flashes in the past two hours. If the devil had gone after the Novaks, he had the horrid feeling that he might just go after Lisa and Ben as well... it wasn't like the bastard cared about humans or who he killed. He tightened his grip, offering the only comfort he knew to give. “We'll find Claire.”

“She is not dead. Of that, I am certain.” Castiel replied as Sam came over to them and set a second white bundle next to the first. “Heather is going to stay inside with Bobby. She's still a little shaken.”

“I don't blame her.” Dean said as he took his hand away from Cas. 

When the pyre was set ablaze, no one said anything. What was there to say? This was a situation that they hadn't taken into account. Dean kept feeling that they should have thought about _something_ like this happening. He was starting to wish that he and Sam had just left straight for New England when they left Texas. They could have stopped in Pontiac on the way there, just to check in on the Novaks. There could have been signs that something was going to happen, something – they could have been there, they could have stopped it – they could have done something. The other worry he had was what had happened to Jo. Was she alive? What did Lucifer want with her? A more gruesome, ugly, twisted thought kept edging into Dean's mind about what Lucifer could be _doing_ to her. He grimaced as the flames started to rise higher, warming the small clearing to a degree where the cold seemed to edge away. The sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh filled the air, making his stomach turn over. 

In the silence that holds nothing but the crackling of flames, a small sound behind Dean caused him to slowly turn. Someone was walking towards them, given how small the footfalls were, it had to be Heather. Although a moment later, a figure that was slightly taller and older looking peered out from a stack of cars, looking nervous. Instinct kicked in faster than he could process the thought – other than he knew it was too damn cold and the roads to damn dangerous for the young woman in question to be anything _but_ trouble. That was Dean's only rational thought as he pulled the Colt out of his coat pocket and fired.

The gunshot echoed through the salvage yard, snapping Castiel from his grief stricken stupor and Sam from his own musings as they both turn to stare at Dean and then to the motionless girl lying on the ground. “Dean, what the hell?” Sam knew his brother could be irreverent, but his next retort was cut off as the girl started to move. “Wait a minute...”

“Ouch...” Urania sat up, wincing as the ball of consecrated iron fell out of her forehead and into her hand. “And I thought my brother had an itchy trigger finger.” She grasped the bumper of one of the cars and slowly pulled herself up to her feet. She looked from the two Winchesters and then to Castiel, all of whom looked stunned. “I'm okay... bit of a headache...” She rubbed her temple, looking pained. “But I'll be fine.” 

“Cas...” Sam took a step forward. “Wait a minute... I know you... I've seen you before...”

“Samuel Winchester, Dr. Klapmeyer's nine o'clock Physics One-Oh-One, Stanford University. You might have gotten an A in that class if you'd actually paid attention and not spent the better part of it playing hangman with your friend Brady.” Urania sighed. “This is not the time or place to be having this sort of discussion.” She shifted her gaze to Castiel. “I need you to come with me.”

“Come where?” The angel stepped in front of the brothers, his face slowly contorting to anger. “I don't have time for you or any of your godless...”

“So you _don't_ want to go and see Claire Novak?” She blinked.

“What?” He moved closer to her. 

“Cas, who is this?” Dean asked.

“Urania.” He tilted his head to the side. “Why is she with you?”

“It's a very long story.” She sighed. “If you wish to wait, I understand.” Her eyes shifted to the fire burning behind them. “I am sorry.”

“He's not going alone.” Dean spoke up. “Wherever it is you need to take him.”

“That... is not possible.” She shifted her standing, squaring her shoulders as she slipped the spent bullet into her coat pocket.

“Like hell is is.” 

“If you come with me...” She glanced at Sam. “If either of you come where I need to take Castiel, Lucifer will stop being so generous and indiscriminate with his plans.”

“Meaning?” Sam asked.

“Meaning that if you and your brother come with us, Lucifer will start killing the children of this world. And Heather is at the top of his list.”

“She is worth more to the devil alive than dead.” Castiel replied.

“It is unsightly and unacceptable to argue at a funeral... of any kind.” She sighed. “Like I said, if you wish to wait a while before we leave, I will not object.”

The angel turned away from her and walked back to the fire. This was all to confusing to him and confusion was one of the few emotions he seriously disliked. He closed his eyes, trying to see if he could roust Jimmy from where he was crouched, a prisoner in his own mind. He didn't hear the interaction going on behind him clearly, other than Dean saying he'd take the Muse back into the house to keep a watch on her for as long as it would take until Cas was ready to leave. _Jimmy? Jimmy can you hear me?_

_Yes, Castiel – I can hear you. Find Claire._

He let out a breath. _Someone is here who knows where Claire is. She wants us to go with her._

_There was a beat. Who is she, Castiel?_

A Muse. He waited, expecting a reaction, a shout, something. He wasn't even sure how much Mythology the man knew.

_Castiel... that woman from a few weeks ago – the one who took Sam and Dean back in time, she was a Muse too, wasn't she?_

_Yes._

_I've seen her before._

Castiel opened his eyes in shock. _When?_

_She saved my life when I was six. The car accident that killed my mom and dad – she's the one who pulled me out of the van._

The angel knew of that wreck – although at the time of that accident the Apocalypse was a far off thought and most angels didn't say much in regards to vessels. They were all under orders to stay off of Earth. That had been back when Anna was still his superior.... but strangely enough, now that he stopped to remember that time, it had been shortly after that wreck that Uriel had started acting oddly and a few years later, Anna fell. _So you know Clio then?_

_Clio – when I met her, she said her name was Claire._

_I see now._ He did see – he was under the impression that all those years ago, when he heard of the fatal wreck and that a woman named Claire had saved the vessel to be, Jimmy Novak – that it had been pure chance she'd been there. He'd been told the news by Michael directly – and Michael knew all of the Muses.

_See what now?_

_Jimmy – I think this is going to be rather like...I think the correct term would be onion._

_Always another layer then?_

_Yes._

_Damn. I wish I could see Claire the way you will._

_You think of what you want to tell her – I will give her the message._

_Promise?_

_Promise._

Sam hunched over in his coat, frowning at the flickering flames. Ellen and Amelia didn't deserve to die like this – they should be home and safe. If this was Lucifer being polite, he didn't want to know what him being cruel would be. The devil had told him that he, Sam, would eventually say yes. He didn't want to think that he would ever do such at thing. Just as he's certain that Dean would never say yes to Michael. _But the stakes are rising for Dean, aren't they?_ A small voice in the back of his head poked at him, reminding him that before, all Dean had to lose in regards to family was Sam. Heather had added another life to the count – and he didn't want to admit it and he doubted that his brother will admit it any time soon – but deep down, Heather might just be worth a little more than he is. 

This new-found idea didn't hurt him – surprisingly. He knew that when it comes to family he always preferred Dean to his dad, but when it came down to it, he liked to be alone and to be left alone. Perhaps if his dad hadn't spent the first ten years doting on him and then the next eight giving him more slack in training than he ever gave Dean – oh, it was still hard as hell, but compared to what Dean went through – it was nothing. _Maybe if dad had always been hard on me the way he was hard on Dean, I wouldn't have been so damn argumentative all the time._ This, he told himself, is only his imagination of course – he and dad were too alike to not fight. Dean was stuck playing referee half the time. It was all confusion and madness – and things had gotten out of hand a long time ago. He couldn't say for certain if one or both of them had said 'yes' before this if the two women who were now dead would still be alive. _Don't think like that._ He was worried about Jo – he had to assume that Claire was okay. But Jo? What had happened to her?

“I should go now.” Castiel's voice pulled Sam from his thoughts. 

“You trust her?” He turned his head towards him. 

“I do not believe that if Claire is where I think she is, there is any imminent danger for her. But I do not intend to leave that place without answers.”

Sam briefly considered asking Cas if he wanted to borrow the Colt, but as Urania had just gotten up from a bullet fired by it – it seemed moot. “I'll stay here.” 

“Thank you, Sam.” He slowly turned from the pyre and walked away, leaving Sam alone.

**

Claire had gone back into the other room shortly after she finished eating and found an assortment of clothes in the wardrobe and dresser. After pulling on jeans and a sweater, her eyes shifted to the high windows. She carefully lifted herself onto the tall dresser and, standing on tiptoe, she could just make out what was outside. If she hadn't known she _wasn't_ in Heaven, she would have thought she was. There was rolling green hill upon hill, flowers in urns and others growing on trellises, fountains – nothing short of perfection. From her vantage point, she could see stone steps leading down to a path that led to a broader one – and several marble buildings doted the landscape. Somehow, she thought Mount Olympus would be more clouds, less grass – like it was in _Percy Jackson._ The only people she saw outside were two girls, probably close to her own age, one blond and fair and the other with dark hair and olive skin – they were roller blading, being pulled along by two dogs on leashes. Strangely enough, she felt like asking Thea if she thought the two girls would let her join them later. It looked...fun. _What am I doing? I'm standing here, thinking about having fun when my mom is dead and I don't know if my dad will ever come home..._

She jumped down from her vantage point and crossed to the door, pausing to look at the painting. “Wait a minute...” She opened the door and called out. “Uh, Thea... is this Rembrandt's “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee?” She recognized it only because she'd watched an A&E special on the art heist of the Gardner Museum in Boston recently - it was the artist's only known seascape. 

“Yes, it is.” 

“It's a good copy...” 

“It's not a copy.” She replied. “The thieves stole the copy and destroyed it...” She came into the room and smiled at the artwork. “That's the original.” 

“You stole this?” Claire was aghast.

“Technically, it was saved – not stolen.” She took a few steps back, holding her hands behind her back, still smiling. “I only keep in this spare room because very few people around here would appreciate it.” She tilted her head to the side and the gesture makes Claire think of Castiel. “Answer me this... what's better, it hanging here on my wall... or it being destroyed in a fire by two assholes who don't even believe in God?”

Claire blinked at that. “I uh...” She frowned and turned back to the painting. “I don't know...would you... are you ever going to give it back?”

“Eventually....” She turned as they heard another door open up. “They're here.” She stepped out of the room and Claire followed.

Castiel had roughly thirty seconds to take in the large comfortable room before he felt someone almost tackle him with a hug. His first reaction was to push the person away before he realized who it was – Claire Novak. His first thought is that she's grown a little taller than the last time he saw her a year ago. He returns the hug awkwardly, not entirely sure of how this situation will unfold. Thoughts start firing across his mind – he has no idea how he can give any comfort to the child and he feels nothing but extreme guilt over this situation, knowing that this has to be mostly, if not entirely his fault. All he can do is simply hold her, rather like a fond uncle, or something – as he looks up and stares at Mnemosyne, who doesn't say anything – but in the pagan's eyes he can see pity and to some degree, understanding. He glances over to Urania, who has settled into a chair at a long table, her chin resting on her knees. In that one moment he also learns something – the boy who sat in front of him at church on Christmas Eve is this Muse's son. They look far to alike for him not to be. Claire reluctantly let go of him, not certain of what exactly to say – she can only offer a brave smile and squeeze his hand, which translates in his mind as – _I'm fine._ He clears his throat before speaking. “What is going on here?”

“Plenty. None of it good.” Mnemosyne answered, shaking her head. She rested her arm on a chair near another fireplace and glanced over at Urania. “Where are Perry and Callie?”

The muse made a noise of disgust. “They've gone with brother dear to a celebrate New Years in Sydney – or are going to, I don't know, I don't _care._ ”

“I will ask again...” Castiel's tone shifted from mild to severe. “What is going on here?”

“I guess I'll just have to be blunt...Lucifer intended to kill both Amelia and Claire Novak. Basically, he's pretty pissed at you right now... he's also very impatient...” 

“Why would...” Claire swallowed. “Why would he want to kill me and my mom?”

“Because he's Lucifer and he can.... that's why.” Urania said from the table. “That's why three other families have also been murdered...even though the deaths were ruled to be accidents. Four families total – all of them with one thing in common.”

“Vessels.” Castiel said, frowning. “So this was not random...”

“No...” Mnemosyne said. “I believe that four more families will die soon – making a total of eight – one of them being the Novaks and the other seven...”

“The families of the ones who refused to follow Uriel.”

“That's correct, Castiel.” 

“But then why did...” He frowned. “I do not understand why you did not save those other families.”

“Has it slipped your mind that I and my daughters aren't exactly on any angel's favorite people's list?” She glanced at her daughter. “Not to mention that memos don't exactly go out when attacks are going to take place.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side – he finally realized what was so odd about the pagan's behavior – for once, she actually _wasn't_ acting afraid of him. If he didn't know any better, she was talking to him like she was his equal. “You're hiding something.”

She sighed and sat down in the chair. “Castiel, three of those families were killed before Lucifer was let out of his cage – it was one of the seals that shattered. After he was unleashed, that two-bit sorry sack of feathers you call a superior forgot that humans love this free will thing they've got – so it's no wonder he was bloody surprised when Dean Winchester told him to fuck off.”

“Honey and vinegar, right maman?” Urania said from her seat across the room, where she was half hidden by a book.

“That's right.”

“I don't get it...” Claire said. “Why'd you save me? I mean...”

Mnemosyne rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Let's just put it this way – my daughters and I decided to return the favor.”

“What favor?” Claire was still very confused.

“Technically, if Castiel was still following Zachariah's orders, Heather Kittredge would be dead.” The goddess sighed. “Though I have a feeling Michael would have just brought her back to life...but that's beside the point.”

“Mother...” Urania said setting her book down. “Why don't we give them a few minutes to talk alone?” She came over and set an hand on her arm. “I think they need it.”

“All right.” The two turned and disappeared through another doorway. As soon as the door clicked shut, Claire turned to Castiel.

“Who's Heather Kittredge?” 

“She's another Winchester.” 

“Why would....” She was very, very confused. 

“Things have... things have changed, Claire.” He swallowed. “There is... there was much I was not told before this began.”

“Is my dad okay?” She spoke just above a whisper – her voice was raw with fear.

“He is fine. He misses you very much and wants you to know that he loves you.”

She sat down in the now vacant chair. “But why am I here? I mean, couldn't they have just taken me to a hospital or something? Uncle Sean or someone could come and get me there.”

Castiel pauses to make the connection – Sean was Amelia's brother. “I do not believe that is possible.”

“Why?”

“I believe Lucifer assumes you are dead – if he were to discover you were still alive, he would set about killing more members of your family in an attempt to get at you.”

“Is it true those three other families were killed?” She swallowed hard. 

“Yes.” He couldn't think of anything he could say to give her any form of comfort. 

“I'm... it's going to work out, isn't it?”

The angel let out a breath. “Yes.” He knows that the child and her father won't be held accountable for his actions, the Novaks, at least, will be all right in the end – well, as all right as possible. “I do not believe you are in any danger here.” 

“I just want to go home.” She stood up and hugged him again, sniffling.

He put his arms around her shoulders, holding her. In the back of his mind, he can hear Jimmy sobbing quietly. “I know you do.” He wants all three of them to be able to go home – more than anything. He could tell her not to be afraid, but he knows that, as Dean would say, is bullshit. There is no way to not be afraid at this point, because even he, is afraid – because the price of all of this is rising as rapidly as the body count seems to be. 

**

The first day of two-thousand ten started off with about as much promise as two-thousand nine ended. Heather burrowed deeper under her blankets, barely registering the fact that the red numbers of the alarm clock were blinking rapidly, letting her know that electricity had been restored. She wasn't sure how much sleep she'd gotten the previous night – it'd just been one nightmare after another – a rehash of yesterday morning. Going outside and finding those two severed heads – but the heads in question kept changing – they'd been just about everyone she'd ever cared about or had known, it seemed. She whimpered, hugged her bear tighter and pulled the cover over her head, shutting the rest of the world out. There was a tired, clanking sound as the furnace that had been powerless for almost four days groaned back to life. There was other noises, the bang of the wood burning stove, the front door opening and closing – a clanking sound of bottles and cans being thrown into a bag. Heather wasn't sure when any of the others went to bed last night – only that it started to scare her when Sam, Dean and Bobby had all started drinking at two in the afternoon and were still drinking when she went upstairs at ten. 

She'd even gone as far as shoving a chair under her doorknob, not that she thinking they would hurt her, but drunk people scared her. Castiel hadn't been back when she went to bed, nor would any of the others tell her where he went. A pounding on her door caused the chair to shake a little and she unfolded the blankets. “Yes?”

“Good, you're awake.” Sam's voice answered. “We could use some help downstairs.”

Heather bit off the retort that it wasn't her job to clean up the mess created by _other_ people's drinking binges. “I'll be down in a few.” 

“Okay.” There was a pause and the knob actually turned. “Heather, do you have something jammed under this doorknob?”

“Yes.” She got out of bed and folded her arms. 

“Why?”

“Because the dresser is to heavy for me to move.”

On the other side of the door, Sam knew his jaw dropped slightly. “Heather...why do you have the door jammed?”

“There's no lock on the door.” She said it in a matter of fact way.

“Why would you need a lock?”

“Call it I didn't want you or Dean stumbling into the wrong room last night.” 

Sam could see her point. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Heather sighed. “I'll be down in a few minutes.”

“Sure.” Sam walked away.

Heather got dressed quickly, made her bed in an almost automatic fashion and, after checking her watch, set the alarm clock to the correct time. She moved the chair and sat down on it to put her shoes on. As she stood up, she read the phrase she'd written on the wall just above the light-switch, put there so she could read it every day: _When going through Hell – keep going._ Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and went downstairs. 

*

Dean set the last of the five bottles on the narrow beam and came back over to Heather, who was standing fifty yards away. The discovery yesterday, more than anything, made him realize, like it or not – the girl had to learn how to defend herself and defend herself _fast_. There mere fact that she was bound for school on Monday morning and who only knew what could be waiting for her out there in Sioux Falls scared him. He couldn't imagine how his father had ever dealt with any of this fear when he first learned there were real monsters in the world – and had two boys – one an infant and the other barely out of toddler-hood to defend. Granted, he had no plans of ever putting her in the backseat of the Impala and having her take up hunting the way he and Sam had – and while he doesn't doubt Bobby's abilities, the mere fact that the girl can use her legs and the man can't... he stops before the trail of thought can get to dark. “Sam just had you fire the glock, right?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her nose, which had already turned red in the cold January air. 

“There's a big difference between an automatic and this...” He held the unloaded revolver out to her. “This one has a lot more kick to it.” 

The gun looked huge in her hands. “I sort of figured it did.” She already knew it was heavy – she'd cleaned the forty-five several times. 

“You know how to load it?” He folded his arms, watching her.

“Yes.” Without being prompted, she turned to the small table next to them and started to put the shells in it, not an easy task as she'd taken her gloves off and the cold bit at her bare skin. She set the gun down, the barrel pointing away from both of them, waiting for the next instruction. Heather didn't mind this so much – it was actually kind of interesting, but the _why_ of learning this was the killer. “Is shooting bottles easier than a target?”

“Depends.” Dean replied. “Pick it up.” 

She nodded and did so, putting the gun into her hands, the same way Sam had shown her two weeks ago, pick it up with the left hand, place it in her right and hold it with both hands, her fingers outside the trigger guard. Heather wondered if it was her imagination that her hands suddenly looked very small. 

“Shooting down is a lot different than shooting straight up.” He adjusted her shoulders and then her arms so her right arm was almost perfectly straight. “Now, you know to absorb the recoil into your shoulder... adjust your hips...” Dean added.

“Like this?” She moved until her left foot was just slightly in front of her right.

“Exactly.” He moved his hands away from hers. “Your thumbs clear from the hammer?”

“Yes.” Heather swallowed, her eyes slowly focusing on the five amber bottles across the way.

“Now, line up your shot...” Dean stepped back, roughly two arms lengths away. 

“Does it matter if I start on the right or the left?”

“No.” He felt himself smile ever-so-slightly. “You have it?”

“Yes.” Heather had her eyes trained on the 'u' on the empty Natural Light bottle on the left. 

“Okay, good... now slowly pull the trigger back...and don't forget to keep breathing.” 

“Got it...” Heather swallowed and started to pull the trigger back, rather surprised that she wasn't shaking any more. A fraction of a second later, the gun went off, the sound shattering the silence and sending icicles on an outbuilding towards the ground, but the sound of their crash was drowned out by the sound of the glass bottle exploding. 

*

In the course of one afternoon, Heather managed to destroy thirty of the forty bottles – not entirely a bad start, in Dean's opinion. Although he knows she's no where near ready to take on anything that isn't stationary – he's got a feeling she's got enough going for her genetically and personality wise that she can pick a lot of things up very quickly. She's had her nose in one of Bobby's books almost the entire time she's been here, so he wouldn't be to surprised if she's nearly halfway to being half as good as Sam at research. Of course he knows that will have to die down a little come Monday, when Heather heads off for her first day of school. He also knows that he and Sam are going to have to head out soon – the Apocalypse didn't get put on hold for a winter storm. 

Cas came back for a few moments – Urania had dropped him off fairly quickly, stating she had to get back home for some reason. Shortly after she left, so did he - on another one of his searches for God. Dean had come to the conclusion that the only reason someone as determined as Cas hasn't found him yet is because God either doesn't want to be found or doesn't exist. But when he leans towards the later, because as the Devil was real, that meant God had to be too. It was starting to become pretty apparent to everyone – except Heather – that God probably doesn't care. Dean's not ready to convince the girl otherwise – she's as stubborn as Sam – and he knows better than to even try. That of course, means she'll just have to find out the hard way. He and Sam had no idea how to start looking for Jo and they both know, but would never admit it, but if Lucifer has her prisoner, they won't find her any easier than they would find God. 

After a long overdue shower, Dean came downstairs and into the kitchen, where Sam was showing Heather how to make rock-salt rounds. Bobby had the news blaring on the television – although the only subject the reporters seemed to be able to talk about was the weather. He figured this was about as charmingly domestic as hunter life ever got. All that was missing was were a few empty sacks of takeout food and some scattered beer cans.

***

Claire rested her head on her knees as she sat on the stone steps in front of the building where Mnemosyne lived with four of the Muses. It was quiet outside – there weren't any birds or any living creatures that she'd seen in her time here and there was nothing but the sound of the wind. She'd only gone outside for lack of anything to do – somehow, poking around in the rooms seemed awkward, even though Annie, as Urania was commonly called, said she was free to look around in her room all she wanted. Claire had taken one look inside, seen that it was a total disaster area – but full of enough fantasy, science fiction and astronomy related things that she knew half of the people she went to school with would commit murder to be allowed inside for an hour. Annie was doing her year-end cleaning and had said she wouldn't mind company, but Claire thought she might get lost in the mess.

When Castiel had left yesterday, he'd left her explicit instructions – stating the most important one was that she not drink any wine or even grape juice while she was here. She figured it had to be some sort of bonding thing – she knew the story of Persephone and the Pomegranate. She also wasn't supposed to leave the house, if you could call it that, alone. Claire didn't know how long she'd have to be here, but she was told time on Olympus and time on Earth were exactly the same – although she was to note that all clocks and such were kept in time with the country of Greece. 

The other reason she was outside was because she was feeling sorry for herself and just wanted some fresh air while she cried softly for both of her parents. Castiel had said her father would be all right, but with all that was going on, it was very hard to believe. She hugged her legs and kept her face down as she heard a clicking noise heading her way. A moment later, it stopped and she heard footsteps approach. A moment later, a swatch of fabric was pushed into her hand and she looked up. 

“Hello.” It was the dark haired girl.

“Hi...” Claire looked down at the cloth – it was a handkerchief. She sniffled and wiped her face with the fabric. 

The girl bit her lip and looked away and then back at her. “You mind if I sit down?”

Claire shook her head and put her head back down. The girl sat on the step next to her, not saying anything as she started to cry again. She didn't know what the girl wanted, but she was to upset to tell her to go away. She almost jerked in surprise when she felt a small hand on her shoulder. She looked at the olive skinned girl through red rimmed eyes. “I don't want to talk.”

“I figured you didn't want to...” She pulled her hand back, looking partly embarrassed. “But you looked like someone who just needed someone to cry with.”

“Huh?” She rubbed her nose with the cloth. “What do you mean?”

“You look pretty miserable. I don't think anyone should have to be miserable alone.” She looked down at her feet. “But if you want me to leave you alone, I will.” 

Swallowing, Claire shook her head. “I... I miss my parents.” 

“I'm sorry.” The girl looked up. “I still miss my mom sometimes... I almost never miss my dad.” 

“How... how long have you been here?” She sat up a little straighter. “I'm... I'm Claire, by the way.”  
“Nice to meet you Claire, my name is Sarama.... well, that's the name my parents gave me...” She shrugged. “But for the past quarter of a century, I've been called Thais.”

She blinked at her. “You've been here twenty five years?” She was partially aghast and partly intrigued. “And you're still.... what... fourteen?”

“Fifteen, but yeah... and I'll be here for another seventy five.”

“What happens then?”

“I'll go to the Elysian Fields... or Limbo, they're kind of the same thing.”

Claire blew her nose, letting her curiosity get the better of her. “Who... I saw you with a blond girl yesterday... who is that?”

“That's Artemis. She's actually the reason I'm here. I kind of... I agreed to be her companion for a hundred years. Thais isn't so much of a name as it is a title – it means 'the bond.' All of her companions have been known by that name.”

Claire knew she had a disgusted look her face. “You sold your soul to Artemis?”

“Considering the alternative was to be forcibly married to a man twice my age who'd be allowed to rape, beat and do whatever the hell he wanted to me and get away with it, then have to watch helplessly as the process would be repeated with any daughters I would have... it's actually a small price to pay...”

“Where are you from?” She couldn't fathom any parent doing that to their child. In retrospect, what the girl had done made almost perfect sense.

“It's not the USSR anymore...” Sarama thought for a moment. “It's uh... what you would know as Kyrgyzstan.”

“Whoa...” She brushed her cheeks with her hand. “I just realized... you're technically the same age as my dad is.”

“It's okay.” She grinned. “There are some half-bloods around here who are so old, they could have known Moses.”

“You know who Moses is?”

“Of course I do.” She nodded at the handkerchief. “You can keep that, by the way.”

“What?” She looked down at the cloth. “Oh.. yeah... thanks.” She took a deep breath. “I don't think I'll be here to long.. few months, maybe...”

“This tied to the Apocalypse?”

“Yeah.” Claire decided she shouldn't be to surprised anymore. “My uh... my dad's kind of trapped in the middle of it and that's the reason my mom's dead...” She sniffled and looked away.

Sarama set an arm around the younger girl's shoulders. “I'm sorry about your parents.”

Claire nodded weakly as she felt fresh tears start down her cheeks. “I... I'm just... I'm just tired, you know what I mean?”

“I think so.” She gave her a light squeeze. 

“Maybe I just need to do something... what exactly does everyone do around here anyway?”

“It's sort of like a permanent vacation... unfortunately, it's a permanent family vacation, so someone's always fighting with someone else.”

Claire snickered. “What, not everyone gets along?”

“It will snow in the Sahara before that happens...” She grinned. “The best I can tell is that Zeus likes to watch his kids fight... and they tend to do that quite a bit.”

“I don't have any siblings. Do... did you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I had four brothers – two older, two younger.” She pulled her arm back. “All of them are dead. They... they fell in with a bad crowd.”

Claire swallowed. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.” She sighed. “You want to... go for a walk, or something?”

“Little exercise might be nice.” She slowly looked around. “How big is this place?”

“I'm not to sure... I think it's about the size of the state of Maryland.” They stood up and started down the stairs. 

“Weird... is it easy to get lost?”

“No... as long as you stay out of this huge maze that's on the eastern border... that's just asking for trouble.” They got to the end of the stone path where a bicycle was parked. Sarama kicked at the stand and started to wheel it along as they came to the bigger path. “So where are you from, Claire?”

“A town called Pontiac, Illinois... I don't suppose you've ever been there...”

“I've been to St. Louis... that's close to there, right?”

“Yeah...It's the nearest major city.” Claire found herself smiling. “What were you doing in St. Louis?”

“Watching the Cardinals whoop up on the Tigers.” Sarama replied with a grin. 

“You're a Cards fan?” This was a bit of a surprise – somehow, baseball didn't seem to fit in with the whole Greek Mythology thing.

“You bet.” She grinned in response. “I like the Cards, and whoever is playing the Yankees.”

**

Melpomene slowly paced in front of her mother's bedroom door, feeling like she was all of six years old again. She knew that she had to do this – for eons everyone believed that Persephone had died in the outpouring of power that was unleashed in the dark part of Hell when Michael and Lucifer landed there. Everyone in the Pantheon knew that Lucifer had killed Hades – and Michael had crippled Hephaestus. But only three members of the family knew the truth of what happened after the door of the cage slammed shut over Lucifer's head. She looked down at her hands, swallowing hard. She knew she should have told her mother a long time ago – back when it first happened, but Mnemosyne had been so distraught over what had happened in Heaven and shortly afterwards, all nine of her daughters were dragged from her arms – and given to Apollo like some fucked up birthday present. 

Melpomene bristled when she remembered those first few centuries. Even though they were older than Apollo – he'd aged quicker than them. They had all looked thirteen – he'd been physically eighteen. In retrospect, she, Annie and Atty had been more fortunate than the other six. They looked enough like his twin sister, Artemis – that he didn't look at them the same way he looked at the others, at least, not at first. Time went on and she watched, albeit drugged on the blood of her brother, as one by one, five of her sisters fell into prison created by the one member of their pantheon who was gaining more and more power as time progressed. 

Callie went first – then Polly – Clio barely escaped the fate that befell the others when she went walking on earth and met a man named Pierus and partially thanks to Aphrodite – as a favor to her sister for keeping her mouth shut about the goddess of Love and Ares – and nine months later, Clio's eldest child – indeed, the _first_ half-blood child of the Muses, Hyacinth was born. Years later, Apollo himself killed the boy. By then, he had put Terpsichore, Euterpe and Thalia under his rule – and, having lost the muse of History to a mere mortal, set about turning towards his three fair-haired half sisters. 

Penny looked down at her hands, swallowing hard. None of the five under her brother's rule had been taken by force – the spell wouldn't work if they were. She hugged herself tighter, cringing in pain at the even worse memory - the very reason she _knew_ the spell wouldn't work if Apollo committed the one unforgivable crime in this family – was because of first hand experience. In her mind, she could still hear her other brother's rage when he'd found her – curled up in a corner of Apollo's home, bloody and bruised. _What the fuck did you do to Penny? What the fuck did you do to my sister?_ All this her mother knew – the source of her deep rooted hatred of the god of the Sun – and how it hurt beyond imagining to see what her precious daughters were subjected to. 

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on her mother's door, trying to shove the pain down so she could do this. “Momma?”

“Come in, Melly...”

Melpomene smiled slightly. Her mom was the only person she didn't mind calling her Melly. She pushed the door open, looking slowly into the room. “You busy?”

The woman glanced up from the cloth she was embroidering. “No...” She took a good look at her daughter's face and set her work down, standing and coming over to her. “Penny, what's the matter?” She shut the door and took the Muse's face in her hands. “You're not...”

“No, maman.” Melpomene swallowed hard and looked up into her mother's eyes. “It's about Persephone.”

Of all the names she expected to hear from her daughter, Persephone was one of the last. “What about her?”

“I uh...” She felt her bottom lip start to tremble. How exactly did one confess to killing their sister? “I know how...”

Mnemosyne shook her head and kissed her daughter's forehead. “I already know, child.”

“How?”

“Michael told me.” She embraced her tightly. “I just wish you'd told me sooner.” She felt the other woman start to hug her back and weep softly. “You acted on instinct, Melly... I don't want to think what would happened to us, to the Pantheon, to the world... if you hadn't stopped Persephone from killing Michael...”

“Momma...” She whimpered against her mother's shoulder. “I'm sorry...”

“Don't be sorry...” She rested her head against her daughter's. “It's not your fault that your sister wasn't thinking clearly... nor is your fault that my brother is a hypocrite.” She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. She had never liked Apollo... never. Back when the Fall had happened – in that brief time between banishment and imprisonment, she'd come up with the idea to have Lucifer to kill Apollo and take on the god's form... much like Gabriel would later do with Loki. But it was not to be – and now, here they were, thousands of years later... in a war that was tearing families – _both_ of her families apart.

Of course, if she was told she could only kill one of them, she'd kill Apollo before she even so much as raised an eyebrow at Lucifer. She'd kill that bastard Apollo before she even so much as raised a butter knife against Zeus.... and he'd been the asshole who'd raped her in the first place and started this whole affair. Of course, he doesn't remember that.... he doesn't remember how she came to be in this place... only Artemis still knew the entire truth. There had never been a Titan named Mnemosyne... there'd never been any Titans. It was just one elaborate story she'd put into the minds of these pagans. Artemis knew... and so had Hades.

Because Hades was no more faithful to his wife than his wife was to him. Arael knew that for a fact – personally. The god of the dead had loved her first... and it'd been another cruel decree on Zeus's part that had driven the two of them from each other. But then there was the other secret – the one she kept buried at all costs, the one so profound and shocking that only two of her daughters knew of it – Penny and Atty. 

**

Castiel was of the opinion that two-thousand ten wasn't going any better than oh-nine had and it was just one day old. He had come to a stop at a chapel in an all girl's high school that bore a sign on the door saying it was to be renovated this coming summer. The wind howled against the building, causing the old windows to rattle in their castings and the shadows seemed to dance on the floor. He wasn't sure why he stopped here, perhaps it was the oldness of the building itself – or just the need for peace. It was the quiet, out of the way sort of place where angels on earth would sit and receive revelation. He couldn't remember the last time he did that – and he knew he couldn't do it now, that would let the forces of Heaven find him. As he sat down in the second to last pew, he heard someone appear behind him and he instinctively flexed his arm, letting his sword slide into his hand. A second later he heard the person sobbing.

Sheathing the blade, but keeping it ready at a moment's notice, he turned and saw Terpsichore a few feet from him, her head resting on the back of his pew, her eyes shut as sobs wracked her body. He tilted his head to the side, finding himself at a loss. He was even more of a loss when she looked up and through her choking sobs, stared at him like she'd never seen him before. She sniffled then tore her gaze away from him, resuming her tears. Castiel frowned, trying to figure out what in the world could possibly be wrong with the muse. It was a horrid sound – it was as if all the woman's collective grief had suddenly broken free and she was left in utter devastation. A moment later, he heard another shift in the air and he and Terpsichore both turned towards the disturbance.

“Atty...” 

Erato completely ignored Castiel and sat down next to her sister, pulling her into a hug. “Ssh...” She pulled her sister's head to her shoulder, stroking the side of her face gently. “Ssh... it's going to be all right.”

“How... how could he do this to us....” She managed between sobs.

“I don't know...” She swallowed. “It's going to be all right.”

“He... he's been _using_ us – all of us...” She sniffled again. “I... I didn't think there was anything to missing that one day... but then...” She shook her head and started to cry anew. 

“I know sister.. I know. I've been there too...” She took a handkerchief from her coat pocket and gave it to her. “We'll go see maman, she will know what to do.” Erato lifted her eyes and noticed Castiel for the first time. “You seem... puzzled.”

“What is going on?”

The Muse looked him over, as if deciding whether or not he should be privy to the discussion taking place. “Sleep, Cori.” She tapped her sister's nose and the other muse fell into a doze. “Now we can talk.” She took a deep breath. “First, you have to understand, my brother, Apollo, is still very, very powerful. For many millennium, he's kept the muses under his complete control. We were taken away from our mother and more or less given to him... sort of like a birthday gift... no say in it whatsoever.”

“Slavery?”

“More or less – I always thought of it as we were a cross between lapdogs, caged birds, fan-girls and servants. Penny was the first to break free – and I followed her.” She hugged her sleeping sister. “We learned the truth and broke our bond with him. He bound the nine of us to him first with blood – as soon as we no longer consume it, we can become free. It takes one year to end the bond and another year to complete the break.”

Castiel frowned. “You mean to say you have consumed your brother's blood?”

“I did once – but I have not done so in centuries. I will say however, the entirety of our pantheon has never taken to human sacrifice.” She sighed. “Clio and Urania followed me – but long before then, he'd already bound the other five to him in another way.” She looked up at him. “I can tell you why Heather Kittredge can see you as you really are and not go blind.”

“How?” 

“The answer is easy... Melpomene never slept with Apollo – at least, not willingly - nor have any of the other three who have broken free...thus if I had any children, they could as well.” She looked down at her sister. “Cori... however...” She shook her head. “I do not know what will happen to her once she learns more of the truth.”

“There's more?” He'd barely registered what she'd just said to him. 

“Oh, there's lots more...” She lifted her gaze. “But you're not ready to hear it yet.”

“So Polyhymnia...”

“She doesn't remember what happened with you, Castiel.” She shook her head. “I suggest you try your best to forget it as well.”

“How did...” His eyes widened. “How do you know...”

“I recognize the shirt.” She shook her head. “Trust me, it's a lot better this way. Apollo is insanely possessive.”

He turned away from her, glowering. 

“Castiel... I know you probably don't want to listen to me, but..”

“Then you should be silent.”

“What is happening in the world is not what you think it is.” She stood up, laying her sister down and she leaned over the back of the pew, so she was in Castiel's peripheral vision. “You think you are becoming more and more human, do you not?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “What concern of that is yours?”

“None. I would just like to offer a suggestion.”

He turned and glared at her. “And was is that?”

“I suggest you look for God the way humans must look for Him – by finding not Him as Himself, but Him in other people.”

“And what does a _pagan_ know of my Father?”

“Not all that much...” She moved away. “I just know my mother has met Him.”

“Your mother is very old.” He winced as his voice stumbled over the words.

“Yes. She is.” She leaned in on the other side of him, her face mere inches from his. “But you have failed to ask the two sixty-four thousand dollar questions.”

“I don't understand that reference.”

“Ask one of the Winchesters to explain that one. But as for the two questions... one, why should Heather be able to see angels at all – and second, speaking of her – just how was she kept hidden from every supernatural thing for thirteen years – from Azazel to Zachariah?”

“I don't suppose you would be willing to answer both of them, would you?” He hated how playful her voice sounded right now. 

“I'll answer the first – the other you have to find out on your own.” She rocked back on her heels and Castiel followed her movement and stood as she swung her arms behind her back. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and the electric lights of the chapel kicked on, flooding the worship space with an artificial glow. Erato hunched her shoulders, her brown gaze never leaving Castiel's blue. 

The angel frowned and then two of the six lights blew out as he saw the shadow form behind the muse. He stared in utter shock at the two massive wings – nearly the same size as his – were cast behind her. He knew that this _wasn't_ some kind of trick of the light or an illusion created by the pagan. What he saw was impossible.

“It's not impossible – if you start to question everything, Castiel. Questioning everything is one of the perks of rebelling...” The lights went back out and the glanced at her sleeping sister. “Cori has no wings... not yet.”

“I do not...”

“I know, I know, you don't understand.” She came over to the pew where her sister was. “I can't say anymore – I merely suggest you remember what I've told you.” She set a hand on Terpsichore's shoulder and then the two of them were gone, leaving Castiel alone. 

The angel sank back down into his seat, knowing he couldn't stay here much longer – he would have to find another sanctuary. All he could figure immediately was either Zeus wasn't the father of the Muses – or Mnemosyne was more than she appeared. He was starting to think it was the later. As for the other question... that would also take contemplation.


	15. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Despite the ice storm, life in Sioux Falls seemed to return to normal, or as close as possible to that come Monday morning. Heather tried not to pay any attention to the fact that Dean kept checking on her in the rear-view mirror as he drove the Impala from the salvage yard to Patrick Henry Middle School. Sam was dozing in the passenger seat, as the brothers had plans to drive straight to the last known location of the Harvelles, hoping they could get a trace of where Jo had gone. Castiel still hadn't returned from wherever he had gone last week, but Heather had learned to expect that. She picked up her backpack and checked the contents again. It was all there – three notebooks, a few folders, her pencil bag, sketchbook, bus pass, lunch card and tucked in the very bottom was the hex bag that she was supposed to keep with her at all times – if possible. She closed the bag and took a deep breath. 

“You remember what bus you need to get on at the end of the day?” Dean turned the Impala onto the street where the school was located.

“Number thirteen.” Heather replied. “I get off on the ninth stop – it's a half a mile walk back to the salvage yard and yes, I remembered my gloves.”

“That road is still pretty icy, so be careful.” Dean slowed as they entered the parking lot. “I don't suppose I have to give you the speech about getting into cars with strangers...”

“I know that.... but I can take candy from them, right?” She knew it was a bad attempt at humor, but she saw the tiny twinge of Dean's lips as he tried not to laugh.

“They never have candy.... that's just a lie.” Dean said in response, the smile suddenly became more obvious.

“Don't worry, I know the standard routine for that situation, you run and scream.” She said as the car came to a stop. “Though anyone on a two lane road in South Dakota looking for kids to snatch in the dead of winter needs their head examined. I'd say they'd have better luck in California, or something.”

“Well, be careful.” Dean said as Heather opened the door. “I don't know when we're going to get back here, so you be help Bobby out and all that... yada yada yada...”

“I will, Dean.” She stepped outside into the cold morning. “Take care, you two.”

“Don't worry about us.” He gave her a wry smile. “We've been doing this since forever.”

“If you get to worry about me, I get to worry about you. It's only fair.” She waved once before slamming the heavy door of the Impala and starting up the stairs to the main entrance of the school. She looked back once from the top of the stairs, watching the black car turn back onto the road and head away towards the interstate. She sighed, hitched her bag on her shoulder and trudged forward. “I wish I was back at Saint John's...” she muttered under her breath as she opened the door.

*

Nathan was only half listening to his friend Luke describe the new four wheeler he'd gotten for Christmas – most of the other guys in the first hour English class was listening with rapt attention. Four-wheelers were as common among his classmates as bicycles – even he had one, he'd had one for two years. It was sort of a milestone in terms of maturity with the guys and most of the girls. First came the two wheel bike, then the four wheeler, then the car – all meant to convey levels of growth and trust. His mind wasn't on four wheelers, friends, or anything of the sort – his mind was on the fact that this was second semester seventh grade English – the one where the students divided into pairs and made dioramas that were _seventy_ percent of their grade. Truth be told, this was the one thing that Nate had been looking forward to since he first learned about it last year. He 'd had about a million ideas and had finally narrowed it down to a few – he just hoped he could find a decent partner for the project.

The door of the classroom opened and everyone scrambled into their seats as their teacher, Ms Fasci, came into the room followed by a new student. Nate did a double take. It was the girl from church. Glancing around the room, he saw other people were looking at the new girl with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Now that she didn't an angel standing next to her, Nate finally got a decent look at her. She was short, red haired and well, okay – kind of awkward looking. Why some of the girls were looking at her like she was an alien was beyond him. Unless it was the fact that several of his friends were looking at her in the same manner they looked at a flashy car – it was something new.

“Class...” Ms. Fasci cleared her throat. “This is Heather Kittredge.” 

“Hello, Heather.” The class all replied and Nate noticed that Heather looked like she wanted to crawl under the teacher's desk with embarrassment.

Ms. Fasci apparently didn't notice as she continued talking. “Heather, is there anything you'd like to tell us about yourself?”

“Maybe some other time, thank you.” Heather said quietly. 

“Well, that's all right then.” She pushed her towards one of the rows. “There's an empty seat, over there next to Johnathan.” 

Nate watched as his classmate raised his hand to show who he was, the girl moved carefully down the row of desks, keeping her bag out of other people's way as she slid into her seat. She set her bag under the chair and set her hands on her desk. He had the distinct feeling she hated all these people watching her.

***

Noah set his briefcase on his desk and shrugged out of his coat. There was a stack of mail that he should have gone through a week ago, class rosters he needed to work out – all the things he'd been depending on the time before the start of the second semester to get finished. But that week had been spent in the company of the Center for Disease Control, undergoing a barrage of tests for an illness it was pretty obvious he didn't have. The department had riffled through his whole health history, they now knew more about his Christmas than Wesley did – down to what he had for breakfast each day. Nothing was left unturned – and the more they prodded, the more concerned Noah became in his own mind. Four hundred and sixteen passengers had gotten onto that flight in Chicago – and with a total of ten crew members, the number was four hundred and twenty-six. Everyone on the flight, from the pilot to the six month old baby on board, had come down with some kind of flu.

Everyone except for Noah.

Hanging his coat up on the hook behind the door, he settled in behind his desk, looking over the schedule that he'd be facing this semester and when he could work out his office hours. He'd seen a few of the victims of the disease and it wasn't pretty – the damn thing had already killed several people and the government was doing it's damnedest to keep it under wraps. What the professor couldn't understand was how it could just affect passengers on one flight and not spread all over the place. None of the victim's families who hadn't been on the flight had been infected either – suggesting some kind of contact was needed. He took a deep breath, resolved to do as the CDC officials had told him – pretend like nothing happened – and above all, not talk about it. That was easier said that done. Shaking his head, he picked up his stack of mail and started to sort through it. He was finishing up shredding the junk mail when he heard a knock on the door and he looked up. A student stood there, looking nervous – exchange student, from the looks of him – Noah wasn't entirely certain if he was from Japan or Korea. “Can I help you?”

“You are Professor...” He glanced at the documents hanging on the back wall. “Pardon me, Doctor Levin?” The boy came in, looking contrite. “I am sorry to be interrupting you. I saw you did not have office hours posted yet.”

Noah gave the boy a half smile. “I normally don't have any students in here until after the first reading assignment.” He held his hand out. “You are?”

“Yamamoto Touji, I am registered in your Multivariate Calculus lecture.” He shook the man's hand. “I have always made it a custom to introduce myself to my teachers before classes begin.” He gave a slight bow. “Now that I have met you, would you please be kind enough to tell me where I may find Professor Sandborne?”

“Biology Department or English Department?”

“Biology, please.” The young man gave him a friendly smile.

“Uh yeah...” He turned towards the window. “Best way to go is straight through Darnall Hall, that's the building behind this one – go out the back doors there, go past Henle Village – it's the next building after that.”

“Thank you. It was good to meet you.” He made a slight gesture and then backed out of the room.  
Noah sat down in his chair, shaking his head. “If they were all like that, I couldn't handle it... makes me wonder if Rachel has the same problem with her classes out in Sioux Falls...” Sighing, he went back to his mail.

*

Yamaoto Touji went in the direction he was told, doing his best to remain passive. The name was correct – but Touji wasn't Touji anymore. Of course, Dr. Levin would wonder why he went from friendly to quiet as all the rest – but it was of no concern. As he went down the steps into the cold January morning, he smiled to himself. His father had been correct in his assumption. 

Noah Levin was one of them. The demon's knowledge of Muses was scant at best... but the man clearly was a half-blood. What mattered now was if was one of those half-bloods – because if he wasn't, he and his friends would have to mount the nearly impossible task of kidnapping Heather Kittredge – and then convince her to open the door.

Lucifer might be able to wait until May... but there was no way he was going to wait until September.

***

Jo Harvelle felt something shake her shoulder once, pause for a moment and then shake her again. Someone was trying to wake her up. She winced, trying to put her thoughts back together. She could remember the door of the motel room flying open, cold air waking her and then a figure swept the salt line by the door away – and then there was blackness – the last thing she could remember clearly were two demons holding her mother while a third, clutching a very large knife closed in on her. There was a scream and now... now there was nothing. She winced as the shaking movement was repeated.

“Wake up... please wake up...” The voice had an Australian accent.

Jo frowned at the female voice and very slowly, opened her eyes. Another woman, probably close to her age was kneeling next to her, looking all sorts of terrified. “Where?” She sat up, feeling dizzy. How long had she been out cold? “Where am I?”

“I don't know....” The other woman paused, looking around the room. 

Jo didn't like it either and, looking around the room, she was surprised. It was a very plush looking hotel room – two beds, a door she assumed led to the bath and another door that looked like it led out to a common room. But there was no television and no windows. “What the hell?” She rubbed her eyes, trying to put her thoughts together. She felt her stomach rumble in hunger, so that told her it'd been a few hours, possibly as much as a day, since she'd been caught. She took a deep breath and looked back at the other woman. “I'm Jo.”

“It's nice to meet you... my name is Cathy.” She replied. Jo looked the slightly smaller woman over, noting that she had dark brown hair and brown eyes and was rather pretty looking. “I'll... I'll go get some food...” 

Jo figured that Cathy had to have been here at least a little longer than her, if she knew where they could get food. A minute later, Cathy returned with a latte mug full of soup and a spoon. “Do you know how long I've been here?”

“No... time... there aren't any clocks.” She sighed and sat down on the foot of Jo's bed. “I'm not even sure what month it is.”

“What's the last date you remember?”

“It was November second – I remember that because I'd gone to Target to get a bunch of the Halloween candy that was seventy-five percent off.”

Jo nearly gagged on her soup. “You've been here two months?” 

“It's January?” 

“It has to be... or almost... It was the twenty-seventh of December last time I saw a calender.”

“Wow...” Cathy stood up and started pacing. “Where are you from? I'm from Brisbane.”

“I'm sort from all over...” Jo replied, taking a few more swallows of soup. “Have you been here alone all this time?”

“I didn't know how long I'd been here... there's books to read. There's a TV in the other room.. but it doesn't seem to work... except as an output for all the DVDs there are...”

“Haven't you tried to escape?” Jo was aghast.

“There's no door out of here... just more rooms like this one.” She took a deep breath. “It's like some really weird prison... except there are no guards.”

“Weird.” Jo downed the rest of her soup – trusting that the woman with her wasn't a demon – only because of the silver crucifix hanging from her neck. Two people probably had a better chance of getting out of here than one alone. She set the mug down. “How many rooms are there?” She asked, getting up.

“There's five of them... I only noticed that this one was occupied a little while ago...” She took Jo's hand and led her into the common room, where there was a sideboard with an elaborate spread of food, half of which she didn't even recognize, a table with ten chairs and several sofas. Everything looked to be of the best quality. A massive bookshelf stood along one wall, looking well stocked. As Cathy had said – the television was hooked up to a DVD player and there were a few cases on the table in front of it. There was no computer, radio or even a clock... Looking down, Jo saw that her watch was gone. 

“Did you disappear from your home?” Jo figured she should try and discover how Cathy landed here – it might have something in common with the way she did.

“It was raining...” Cathy frowned. “I was driving home from the Target, like I told you.. and the road was slippery...” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, grimacing. “There was something in the middle of the road and I swerved to miss it – the last thing I remember is the sound of my tires squealing...” She lowered her hands, as if something had just occurred to her. “My family is going to think I'm dead.” She sank to the floor. “They.... or... something...”

Jo sat down and hugged her. “No, I'm sure they're looking for you... I mean, people don't just vanish from their cars...” She swallowed. “I've not been following missing person's reports or anything, but I bet you anything they're looking. Our families are looking for us – and they will find us.” She knew the words sounded lame even as she spoke them, but Jo wasn't ready to admit to the fact that her mom was most likely dead – leaving Sam and Dean to be the only ones to look for her. She took a deep breath. 

“But people go missing all the time and never get found... like that teenager from Alabama and that little girl from England...” She sat down, sniffling.

“Were you this much of a wreck before I showed up?” Jo couldn't imagine that the woman would wait this long to freak out.

“I had no idea how long I'd been here... I thought maybe it had only been a few days... maybe a week...” She sighed. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. And we're going to be just fine...” There was a flash of light from one of the rooms. “What the...”

“There was one of those flashes right before you showed up...” Cathy stood and hurried towards that room. She peered inside and then slowly turned towards Jo. “Uh... how good are you at judging nationalities by appearance?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Cause I can't tell if this girl is from China, Japan or Korea...”

“What?” Jo went across the room and stood next to Cathy. Lying on one of the two beds, slumbering peacefully was an Asian woman with very black, very straight hair – a perfect little China doll – delicate, dainty.... pretty. “Um, Cathy... how many beds are there in this place? Do you know?”

“There's ten... same as the number of chairs at the table.”

“Ten huh?” She frowned. “How long was I out before you came and woke me up?”

“I was scared at first... it... it took me about half an episode of _Lost_ to work up the courage.”

“So about twenty minutes....”

“Yeah, and another hour to finally wake you.”

“I think we're going to have a lot more company before we find out why we're here.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, I say we wake her up, hope she speaks _some_ English – and do a really thorough look around this place.”

“Sounds good to me.” Cathy tilted he head to the side, thinking. “Jo... there's something else... when my car wrecked, the windshield shattered – and I distinctly remember feeling one of the glass shards scratching my face... but when I woke up... I didn't have a mark on me.” 

“Are you sure you didn't imagine it?” They entered the room, approaching the bed slowly. 

“Yeah... all my other scars were gone too... including the one from where I had my appendix taken out.”

“All your scars?” Jo stopped, looking stunned.

“Uh huh... even the ones from my bout with the chicken pox when I was six.”

Stopping in her tracks, Jo pulled the sleeve of her shirt up, expecting to see the awkward looking scar she'd gotten from gouging her arm open on a swing set when she was ten. The ugly, white, two inch long scar was gone – as if it had never been. Refusing to give into fear, she took a deep breath. “Mine are gone too...”

“Weird, isn't it?” 

“Beyond weird.” Jo started mentally going through a list of supernatural creatures who could do something like this as Cathy started shaking the Asian woman awake. Her mind kept going back to the one thing she didn't want it to be...an angel. One angel in particular – _Lucifer._ The only question after that, of course, was why?

**

Claire kept to Thea's advice and never left the house alone. Although the Muses who lived there – Clio, Erato, Urania and Melpomene seemed to be gone almost always – when one of them was there, they usually wanted to be left alone. All Thea seemed to do constantly was worry – particularly over another muse, Terpsichore, who had been plagued with some kind of flu that didn't seem to want to let go. One thing Claire could say about Olympus was that it wasn't boring. Most of the occupants skipped out on regular intervals to attend Mardi Gras events – Sarama had told her it was one of the few times they actually ventured out of the sanctuary of their home. Claire figured the Greek gods were hiding from hunters, demons and angels. Sighing, she made her way down the small stone steps towards the library in Thea's house. One of the other doors was open in the corridor and she peered inside. Urania stood there, surrounded by large screens – all of the movies she was watching were frozen and she was studying each one with an odd intensity. She knocked on the door before pushing it open a little further. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Annie gave her a wan smile. She was tired. “You can come in, if you want.”

Claire entered the room and looked at the televisions, frowning. She only recognized one movie, it was _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince_ – the others... no idea. “Uh, what are you doing?”

The Muse set down the notebook she was holding and folded her arms, frowning at the one screen in front of her. “I am looking for the next five Doctor Whos.” 

She scanned the films. “What do you mean?”

“My sister Penny chooses who plays James Bond... she always has and she always will...I'll always chose who's playing the Doctor.” She gave her a wry smile. “I even had Robert Patterson picked for the fifteenth doctor... then he went and decided to play Edward Cullen. Why actors sacrifice themselves to type casting, I will never know...” She shook her head. “I don't want him anywhere in that world... but...” She took up her notebook and wrote something down. “There...” She pointed to the _Harry Potter_ screen. “Matthew Lewis... now he, Claire Novak, is the perfect Sixteenth Doctor.” 

“I'm not really familiar with _Doctor Who._ ” She sat down on one of the stools that was sitting next to the door.

“That's okay....some things you have to keep a watch on all the time – turn your back on them for one moment and then... holy crap...” She shook her head. “That's my only explanation as to what happened with _Star Trek_. I knew I should have asked Roddenberry if I could pick all the Captains...” She chuckled. “But then again, as they say – sooner or later everything ends up jumping the shark... _Next Generation_ should have quit with _First Contact_ and been done with it.”

Claire thought for a moment. “That's the one where they're fighting the Borg, right?”

“Yup.” She grinned and made another note. 

Claire shifted nervously. “Um, can I ask you something?”

“I suppose.” Urania turned off the screen showing _Harry Potter_ and moved onto the next one. “Cas.. Castiel told me something when... when he was here.”

“Yeah?” She was only half listening.

“Is it true that you have a kid in Sioux Falls?”

The muse lowered her notebook. “I try very, very hard not to think about Nathan. I've not seen him since he was just a few hours old.” The pain in her voice was very clear.

“Why doesn't he live here with you?”

“It's... it's not allowed.”

“Not allowed?” This made no sense to Claire. “He's your kid... you should get to keep him.”

“It's just a rule. The reason that this pantheon has managed to stay more or less intact and left alone from the armies of Heaven and Hell is because when we are told to do something, we tend to do it. Besides, Nate has two loving parents, a bright future...” She bit off the part about him being protected. “And someday, if he so wants it – I'm more than willing to lend a hand in helping him find his biological father's family.”

“What about his biological father himself?”

Urania took a deep breath. “Jason's dead.” She turned her attention towards another screen, this one showing a period film. “I did tell him though... in fact, it was the last thing I ever said to him.” She bit her lip. “I kept telling him to hang up the phone and call his parents, but he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to find a free line.”

Claire frowned. “Um... how... how did Jason die?”

“He fell.” Urania closed her eyes, wincing in pain. “He fell a hundred and four stories when the floor underneath him gave way.”

Claire could only stare at her in horror. She knew what the Muse was talking about – she'd only been eight years old when the World Trade Center attacks happened, but it was the first clear historical event she could recall. “I'm... sorry.”

“I am too...should have known something was up that morning... there were far to many reapers in New York City that day.”

“You were there when it happened then?”

“Yes.” Urania sat down on the floor, sighing. “I have had four other children besides Nathan... and some how, I don't miss their fathers the way I miss Jason... maybe it's because we somehow got back in touch a few years after the fact... and I know they've all died... but...”

“It just doesn't seem right.” Claire offered, coming over and sitting next to her. 

“Exactly.”

“I have a...I think he's a great uncle, or something... he died in a plane crash. It's weird, my dad always said that the seventies were a terrible decade and it was pretty evident in his family.”

“The seventies were pretty bad...” Urania gave a sardonic chuckle. “It might not have been the worst one of the Century, but it's in the top three. My sisters and I weren't all that busy... to many realistic movies and what not..then I ran into a man by the name of George Lucas.” A mischievous grin spread across her face. “Shortly after, Penny found a guy named Francis Ford Coppola and another named Ridley Scott.” She started to chuckle. “The rest, as they say, is history.”

Claire felt her eyebrows lift. “You're responsible for _Star Wars_?” 

“Sort of... but not _Indiana Jones_ , that's Clio...”

“Are you responsible for everything like that?”

“No, not directly. Sometimes a work is all that is needed to create other works. Which is why all romance novels have almost all the exact same plot – and almost all of them stem from the works of Jane Austen. Everything else...” She tilted her head to the side. “Is Atty having fun.” She turned off the rest of the screens. “I don't think I'm going to get any more work done tonight...” She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “What was your uncle's name? Do you know?”

Claire didn't bother to mention the man was actually her great uncle. “Uh, his name was Aaron... he died in that crash that happened at Tenafife.. Teneraft...”

“Tenerife?” Urania stood and started putting the room back in order.

“Yeah, that one.” She stood up and started putting pillows back on the sofa. “My gran... well, okay – this is complicated, but my gran isn't really my dad's mom – she's his aunt, but I call her gran cause my dad's parents died in a car crash when he was six...and he's called them mom and dad for a long time and...” She stopped talking when she saw a very peculiar look on the Muse's face. “What is it?”

“Claire... your gran's maiden name wouldn't happen to be Higgs, would it?”

“Yeah, why?” 

Urania mouth opened and closed a few times without her speaking. “You're related to Aaron Higgs... Aaron Higgs from Clayton, Missouri?”

Panic started to form in Claire's stomach. “What... why... how did you know he was from Clayton, Missouri? Did you know him?”

“No. Clio did, however... in a manner of speaking.”

Claire frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“How's this... there's living proof to how they knew each other.”

“What do you...” It was Claire's turn to gape. “Are... you mean...” She covered her mouth in shock. This couldn't be true... how could it be true? She lowered her hand. “Did... did you know that my dad is an only child? Gran... gran tried to have kids and never could...”

“No, I didn't.” She guided the girl from the room. 

“Can... when this is all over, can we go see... I mean...”

“I'm fairly certain we can arrange some way for your family and his to meet.” 

Claire felt a rush of hope like she'd not had since the last time her father came home. To find out that she had more family – family she didn't know about, it somehow gave her a renewed sense of peace. What's dad going to say when he finds out he has a cousin? What's gran going to say when she find out she's got a nephew? Oh my... _what's Great-Gran going to say when she learns...Oh...wow! Just wow! I wonder if he's got any kids?_ “Can... what do you know about him?”

**

Castiel didn't want to take the Muse's advice on how to find God. But, as Dean would say, desperate times call for desperate measures – so he decided he would give the method a try – for a week. In that one week, the angel determined two things – one, humans were a lot stronger than most angels gave them credit for, and two – it was a miracle any human knew how to be happy. But he was starting to see what Erato had meant. He had seen merely a glimpse of what she had told him about finding God in other people. It'd been in the eyes of the homeless who'd come into that shelter in Boston for a warm meal and a place to stay the night. He'd actually _felt_ it, at least, he thought that was what it might have been in the 'thank you' from the elderly woman whom he'd helped up the icy stairs of her apartment building in Berlin. Humans weren't as worthless as Lucifer claimed they were – they had such... remarkable powers without having any powers at all. They kept moving forward, or trying to.

_But this will not stop the Apocalypse. Mankind can not stop what is coming._

_Castiel?_ Jimmy's voice sounds tired and worn.

_Yes?_

_I know what you're doing... I... I don't think God wants to be found._

_How can you know that?_

_He's God, Castiel. If God wanted to stop all this, don't you think he would have done so already?_

The angel doesn't want to argue with his vessel – nor does he want to admit that the man might have a point. _What then, shall we do if not look for Him?_

_I don't know.... save people from demons, or something?_

_I'm not even sure I have enough grace left to even smite a demon, James._

_I saw the wings that woman had and you said she's no angel. She's getting grace or whatever it is from somewhere – and don't go telling me you don't know an exorcism or fifty._

_She's a pagan god, Jimmy. Even without worshipers, they're still powerful._

Jimmy's next reply is cut off as Castiel feels a hand on his shoulder. Jerking, he turned and saw Gabriel standing above him. “Gabriel.”

“Hello, little brother.” The archangel sat down next to him. “Your vessel has a point, you know.”

“There has to be something that can be done to stop it.”

“It can't be stopped.” He took a deep breath. “Much as some of us don't want it to happen, it's happening.” He clamped an arm around the younger angel's shoulders. “However... I would like your help.”

“Help with what?” Castiel was confused. Why would an archangel need his help?

“It takes two angels to summon a Muse – to get the specific one you need, at least.”

He frowned in response. “If you need to talk to one so badly, I do have Clio's phone number...”

“So do I, but she's not the one I need answers from.” His face suddenly lost it's light look and turned serious. “I do know that our brother, Lucifer – took Jo Harvelle... and he's also had two other women kidnapped in the past three months... what I don't know, is why.”

“Why do you think a Muse would have the answer to that?”

Gabriel snickered. “Because the Muses tend to know a lot more than they let on.” He checked the area for anyone looking in their direction before causing the two of them to vanish from the park bench. 

**

Jo and Cathy learned that it was the middle of January from the third woman, whose name was Kaori. She was a subway inspector from Kobe, Japan and had somehow gotten to the unknown location while investigating an old track line that somehow kept surviving the earthquakes that plagued Japan and was up for possible renovation. Thankfully, she spoke English well enough that they could all understand one another. After she'd drunk a cup of tea, the three of them inspected their rather opulent prison. 

All five of the well furnished rooms held two beds, two dressers – although the only ones with clothes in them were in the rooms that the three of them were using – a table and two chairs. The bathrooms were well stocked with high quality towels, soap, shampoo and other toiletries. There were no razors and all the cutlery in the sideboard was plastic. 

Jo sat down on one of the couches with a heavy sigh and the other two women sank down into a pair of arm chairs. “All right, so we know we can't leave – either of you have any idea why we're here?”

Kaori shifted so she could rest her chin on her knees. “I... no, you would think me crazy...”

“This whole place is crazy.” Cathy said. “What is it?”

“A... a few weeks ago, in Osaka, four girls were murdered in a most...how you say... peculiar... method.”

“Peculiar how?” Jo said, sitting up and leaning forward.

“They... they were all...” the woman made a slashing gesture across her throat. “Along with... with other wounds...”

“Famine...” Jo said under her breath.

“What?” Cathy sat up straighter. 

“I uh...” The hunter rubbed her eyes. “Someone... someone tried to kill four girls in the States the same way...” She looked from one woman to the other. “They only killed two of them.”

“Why?” Kaori's brow furrowed. “Why would someone do such a thing?”

“If...” Jo shrugged and went ahead with her thought, figuring she might as well throw everything out on the table. Honestly, the two were better knowing that not. “If I told you the Apocalypse had started, would you believe me?” The two women stared at Jo like she'd grown another head. “Okay, so maybe you don't...” She sighed and kept on talking. “But it has... so I'm thinking this is... somehow a part of it.”

Cathy stood up and started to pace. “That's... okay, how did it start?”

“Lucifer got out of Hell.. how that happened is a really, really long story...”

Kaori gave Jo a pointed look. “I don't suppose you know the majority of that as well, do you?”

“Not as much as I would like... and...” She leaned back against the cushions. “Well, it's not like we have anything better to do, so I'll tell you what I do know...” 

*

“That...is so fucked up.” Cathy said from where she was half draped over the arm of the other couch, her legs propped up on the arm. “So if these two brothers... Sam and Dean.. don't take part in this whole angel warfare thing... what happens? Does the devil just keep tearing the planet apart until they do?”

“Pretty much.” Jo said tiredly.

“This... is...” Kaori folded her arms, frowning. “That still does not explain why we are here...you know the brothers but we do not...”

“I know and it's just...” Jo paused, thinking. “I just don't know what...” She was cut off as another flash came from another room. “Again?” The three of them stood and went to the room and looked inside. Sleeping on the bed was another woman, close to their age – her hair was black and her hair was a very pale shade of brown. She was wearing a sweatshirt that advertised the University of Buenos Aires. Like her assessment of the other two, Jo studied the woman's features and found her to be rather good looking. That's when the idea slowly nudged into her mind. Their scars had all been washed away – marks and blemishes were done away with... she frowned and shuddered as Kaori and Cathy went into the room to wake their newest arrival. All four of them had a few things in common – and, given what she knew about the Winchester brothers – she knew instinctively that was she was looking at were the types of girls that Sam would find attractive... not to do a disservice to Dean, but the wholesome girl next door persona really wasn't the elder Winchester's type. The next thought that came into her head sent her running back to her own room and into the bath where she started to get sick. 

_We're either destined to enter a death match or the start of a harem... either way, the devil's going to be fucking all of us, one way or another._

As Jo curled up on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, spent from vomiting and fear, she wanted her mother. More than anything else, she just wanted to hear her mother's voice – one last time.

**

Heather had hated the half mile walk to and from the bus stop every day in the beginning – it was cold, in the morning it was dark and in the afternoon, she was always tired. But after three and a half weeks of doing it, she realized it was probably the best exercise she'd ever gotten in her life. True, she still got back to Uncle Bobby's house cold and pink faced, but hey – fresh air was fresh air. She shoved her gloved hands deeper into her pockets, trudging up the partially plowed road. It'd snowed a few more times since Sam and Dean had left and the powder crunched under her boots. Bobby had stated it wouldn't do her any good to wear the far-to-big goulashes she'd worn around the salvage yard, so he'd made a Christmas present out of a decent pair of combat boots that were a half-size to big – giving her room to grow into them. Heather had tried to state she didn't expect to grow much taller than she was, but he'd told her that both Sam and Dean hit late growth spurts – Sam in particular – and well, it was best not to take chances. She sighed in the cold and trudged onward, glad that the week was nearly over. School in South Dakota wasn't all that different from back in Indiana – right down to the hard time she was having making friends. When you didn't know if you'd still be around come next September, how could you? Heather still wasn't sure what would happen to her after the Apocalypse was over. Well, if she was dead, that was one thing – but what if she wasn't? She wouldn't mind staying here, in Sioux Falls – but it was hard living in Bobby's house – it didn't feel like home. Nowhere did.

The jangling notes of The Who's 'Baba O'Riley' snapped her from her musings and she dug her cell phone -another thing that she had to start carrying at Dean, Sam _and_ Bobby's insistence – out of her bag and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Heather, it's Dean doing the weekly check-up thing....” She nearly laughed at the awkward tone of his voice. She didn't think he'd ever lose it.

“Hi.” She started walking again. “How are you and Sam doing?”

“We're fine. Where are you?”

“Walking back to Uncle Bobby's. Did you go and forget about the time zone thing again?” She had no idea where the brothers currently were, but it wouldn't surprise her if they were in a different time zone than her.

“No, no... just wanted to check in before I got caught up in something.” Dean was headed across the parking lot of a Target in Maryland. Sam had stayed back at the hotel, sleeping. “How's school going?”

“Fine, I suppose. I think the lunch ladies might be aliens... but that's nothing new.”

“Aliens huh?” Dean chuckled. “What makes you say that?”

“Because anyone with a normal human brain would know that mashed potatoes are never supposed to be subjected to food coloring except for a Halloween party.”

Dean grimaced. “What color were they?”

“Blue – I think it's supposed to be some kind of school spirit thing. I just wish the kids in my class would shut up about the Superbowl already – I don't even care that the Colts are playing.”

He scoffed at that. “Aren't you _from_ Indianapolis, young lady?” He said in mock anger.

“Yes, I am Dean.” She replied in a sing-song voice. “And just like all the good little boys and girls raised in Indiana, the only sport I care about is _basketball_.”

“Basketball, huh?” He stopped at the crosswalk in the front of the building, waiting for a few cars to pass and Heather's reply was cut off and all Dean heard clearly was an 'oh crap' and a blaring car horn followed by an engine in desperate need of a tune up. Panic set in faster than he could think. “Heather? Heather?”

“I'm here.” It took her about a minute to reply and her voice sounded annoyed. “A bit damp, but okay.” 

“What the hell was that?” Dean frowned. “Sounded like a car.”

“It was a car. Some punk who lives up the road from Uncle Bobby thinks it's funny to gun the engine of his jalopy and watch the little fat girl jump into a snowbank to avoid getting hit.”

“You're not fat and why haven't you said anything about this earlier?”

“It wouldn't matter if I did – I'm thinking at best, the guy might stop doing it for a month if I complained... and he only does it about once a week.”

“Sam and I should be back in a few weeks – have you told Bobby about it?”

“No.” She dusted the snow off of her coat, hoisted her backpack back onto her shoulder and started back down the road. “Besides, when the weather's nice I might just sneak over to his house and slash his tires.”

Dean didn't know if he should laugh or reprimand the thought. “Well, tell Bobby when you get back to his house. He probably knows the kid's parents. And you be careful... there's a couple of deep ditches on that road that can get hidden in those snow drifts.”

“I will.” She sighed. “Where are you two, anyway?”

“Frederick, Maryland – it's roughly an hour or so away from Washington.”

“Got snow?”

“No, thankfully.” He sighed. “How have you and Bobby been doing anyway?”

“Not bad, all things considered.” She stepped around a patch of ice. “I'm getting a little tired of making rock-salt rounds, but I know it's important.”

“So nothing out of the ordinary going on at all?”

“Nope, other than the food-colored mashed potatoes. At least they left the gravy alone.”

Dean chuckled. “So what's with the basketball thing?”

“Haven't you seen _Hoosiers?_ ” Heather chuckled as she came to the top of the last hill before the salvage yard. “Practically every kid I went to grade school with knew how to play Horse before they knew how to play Hide and Go Seek.”

Dean had a feeling she was joking. “Well, I'm going to let you go, remember to tell Bobby about the punk, okay?”

“I will. You and Sam be careful.”

“Don't worry about us.” Dean already knew that was an impossible task. “... and don't go over there slashing that guy's car tires. When Sam and I get back, I'll show you how to remove a car battery – he'll miss that a lot more than the tires, trust me on that one Gracie...”

Heather laughed. “Okay...did you just call me Gracie?” 

“There's not really a good way to shorten your first name...so it's the best I could come up with.” Dean said, chuckling as he grabbed a cart from the long row and turned it towards the main isle. 

“Well, thank you for not calling me Ginger or Heath-Bar, Darkwing Duck.”

“You're welcome.” There was a pause. “How do you know about Darkwing Duck?” He asked incredulously.

“You Tube.”

Dean snorted. “What else have you been watching on-line, young lady?”

“Nothing you'd enjoy seeing.” She came to the front gate of the salvage yard. “I don't want to keep you.”

“It's okay. You are aware that if I'm Darkwing, that makes you Gosalyn.” Dean was a little surprised he could remember anything about the cartoon that he hadn't seen in years.

“Hey, Gosalyn was pretty cool – tell Sam I said hi.”

“I will.” Dean hung up his cell and dropped it into his pocket. He shook his head as he leaned against the cart, steering it towards the isle where the first-aide supplies were located. “Darkwing...” He chuckled. “Guess that makes Sammy Launchpad.” Then he had to wonder where Heather even came up with the idea of calling him that.


	16. Nobody's Home

Dean tossed the several Target bags onto his bed in the motel, frowning. He and Sam had spent the better part of the past three weeks tracking down possible leads and gathering information on the demon Ellen and Jo had been tracking. The motel the Harvelles had been staying at was a dead end – half of it had burned to the ground two days before New Year's Eve... their room had been among the destroyed. Although Jo was listed as _missing_ from the motel – as they'd not found any part of her in the room. Ellen, however – they'd found just enough of her body to identify it – the rest had been burned to ash. The fire had claimed six other lives – two kids were among the dead. It was all bad and he and Sam had left the area, moving southward, into Maryland. The trail on the demon was cold and they knew Jo could be anywhere by now. So here they were, already onto another case that might be nothing or something major. “Remind me again why we're here.” He sat down on the bed and started to remove his boots. 

Sam rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd stayed behind in the motel to do more research. “Yeah... about a month ago, a flight left O'Hare Airport in Chicago for Ronald Regan here in DC... two days later, passengers from that plane started heading to hospitals, all suffering from the same malady...” He bent down, unzipped his backpack and dug out a file folder. “A week later, nine of the passengers and two crew members were dead. Four were elderly, three already had some other kind of illness and the remaining four well, they're still working on that one...” He leaned across the bed and held the folder out to his brother. “The following week, three more people were dead – they already had some other form of illness also - but the rest of the passengers have started to recover and they've traced who they think is patient zero back to Chicago – the airline worker who was scanning tickets at the gate. Trouble is, she's also dead.”

“Still not getting this Sam...” Dean opened the folder, flipping through a few newspaper clippings.

“The plane was a fully loaded seven-forty-seven... there were four hundred and sixteen passengers, ten crew members... and all but one of them have been into the hospital for some form of treatment.”

“One person?” Dean looked up, skeptical. “That's odd.”

“Yeah. The two random dead passengers were sitting on either side of the guy.” 

“That's...” He shook his head. “What the hell...”

“The passenger is one Noah Levin. He's a professor at Georgetown University.”

“Maybe he's just lucky.” Dean shrugged his shoulders. “What is it they say, at least twenty-five percent of the population is immune to any given illness? What'd they all have, anyway?”

“They still haven't identified the disease, but they think it's a new strain of meningitis.”

“That can't be good.” He set the folder down and rubbed his eyes. “But let me guess, there's more.”

“Yeah. The only sick people reported from the second-busiest airport in the country were that gate attendant and that one flight.”

“Now that's _definitely_ not normal.” Dean knew all to well how fast illnesses could spread – when he was eight, the chicken pox ran rampant through the school he was attending – he'd been fortunate to have already had the dread illness, but half the student population was out faster than his dad had gotten halfway through the research for the hunt he was on at the time. He finished toeing off his boots. “So I take it you want to go talk to the good professor.”

“Yeah. Though odds are, this guy's going to be smart enough to see through just about any disguise.”

Dean snorted and started digging clean clothes from his bag. “What makes you say that?”

“Dean, he's got a damn _doctoral_ degree in Mathematics from Yale – odds are, if this guy wasn't part of the equation, he'd be one helping the CDC and the FBI and who knows all figure out the math on this. Hell, the CDC has probably already put the guy through a regime of testing to find out why he's not sick.”

“Great, so how old is this guy, sixty?”

“Try thirty-nine.” Sam replied. 

“He married?”

“Divorced...” Leaning over, Sam took the folder back and flipped back through it. “He has one kid, a ten year old boy named Wesley who lives with him – but this past Christmas, he spent the holiday with his mom in New York. Guess where the good professor was?”

“Let me guess... not in Chicago.” Dean dug out the smaller bag that held his toiletries. 

“Right. He was with his sister and her family.... in Sioux Falls.” 

“As in, South Dakota...”

“Yeah, the same time we were there.” He shook his head. “Crazy...”

“No kidding.” Dean turned and headed for the bathroom. “I don't suppose you've come up with a cover story for us yet...”

“Still working on it.” Sam said as his brother shut the door and turned on the shower. 

*

'Working on it' turned out to entail Dean leaving Sam alone to do more research. Hating the quiet of the motel room he'd left to go repair the Winchester Family Finances. Given that it wasn't a Friday night, the bars weren't terribly crowded, but there were still plenty of people to hustle in a game or five of pool. By the time he got back however, it was late and he fully expected to find Sam asleep. Instead, he found his brother still awake, staring at his laptop and pulling on his bottom lip, thinking. Not saying anything, he set the small bag of groceries he'd forgotten to get at the store earlier down on the table and, after putting the half-gallon of milk from the bag into the in-room fridge, his brother had shifted in his chair, looking pensive.

“What's up with you?” Dean frowned. 

“I think I may have an idea on how we can talk to the good professor...” He sighed. “But I don't think you're going to like it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I think our best bet may be posing as workers from the Middleton Institute.”

“The Middleton Institute?” Dean sat down on his bed and started to take off his boots. “What's that?”  
“An organization that helps adopted kids find their birth families.”

Dean glanced up. “Somehow I don't think those are the sort of people who come and knock on your front door, Sammy.”

“I think I have it worked out...” He set his pen down and rubbed his face. “Besides, maybe Cas can help with actually finding the guy's birth family... if he's got anything to tell us.”

“You dig anything up on the good professor anyway?”

“Let's see...” Sam opened a file on his laptop. “There's not much I could find – most of the networks around here are way to secure to hack into... and not get caught. Noah Levin, born May nineteenth, nineteen seventy. Teaches mathematics at Georgetown, doctorate at Yale, undergrad at Stanford... a few published works in various academic journals...” He frowned. “His parents live in Tucson, Arizona.”

“Great, a class-A brain.” Dean said, not sitting up. 

“No kidding.... Dr. Levin has a little bit of a following in the world of academia.” Sam snorted. “I took a look at it, but most of the things I don't understand.” He shook his head. 

“So if he's here and his parents aren't that far away, what's his sister doing in Sioux Falls?”

“I had a feeling you'd ask that...” He took a deep breath. “She's an English teacher...at Patrick Henry.”

That made Dean sit up. “Heather's school?”

“That's right.” He shook his head. “You compare the two siblings and it's complete opposites...then again, both of the Levin children were adopted.”

“You got a picture of the professor?” He stood and came over to the table. 

“Sure.” He turned the laptop towards him.

Dean frowned at the thin main with brown hair and hazel eyes. “That's funny...”

“What?”

“You know how you look at some people and they seem familiar somehow...” He titled the angle of the laptop. 

Sam looked at the screen and frowned – and he saw it too. “You're right. That's weird... maybe its his haircut...”

“Could be.” He shrugged and went to change into his sleep clothes.

**

Heather was relieved it was Friday. This week had seemed almost endless. She settled into her seat, only half listening to the conversations around her. When she'd talked to Bobby about the problem with the boy and the car, he'd called over to his neighbors and they had vehemently denied that their son would do such a thing. Heather had been sort of glad at that moment that the old hunter was confined to a wheel chair because he looked mad enough to shoot someone. So he'd told her to be extra careful on the road – and wait until Sam and Dean got back to do more about the situation.

“All right class...” Rachel Fasci's voice cut through Heather's musings and she turned her attention towards the teacher. “As you know, this is second semester English... and I know it's time for the assignment you've all been looking forward to.” An audible groan came up from at least half the class. “Now, I know you'll change your minds once you get started.” The teacher kept smiling as she started to write on the board. “Although I learned two things from the diorama project the last two years...” She set the chalk down after writing the date March 19, 2010 on the board. “And that is assigned partners... and limiting it to one diorama per book.” 

Heather remained quiet as the rest of the class seemed to erupt around her. The assignment seemed logical to her. She figured there were around two hundred seventh graders in the school and who wanted to see twenty-five dioramas on the same book, with half of them probably being the same scene? She heard the teacher call order and the grumbling slowly quieted down, though the mutinous looks continued. 

“I've already drawn up the pairs – there will be no switching partners, unless there is a valid argument for it. Stating that you don't want to work with someone because they are not in your circle of friends isn't one of them.” She gave the class a very sharp look, one Heather took to mean It's time to grow up. “I want you to spend this period talking with your partner and, if possible, chose the book you would like to do. Once you've had a talk about what you would like to do, please come up and turn in at least three books you would like to use. To be fair to the other classes, your books will be assigned on Wednesday. You have until the end of the day Monday to turn your list in. I want to remind you, again, that this is seventy percent of your grade this semester.” 

Heather took a quick look around the room, realizing that the teacher was starting with the name Andrews – she was going in alphabetical order by last names, but that's not what she was looking for. She counted up the number of girls and boys in the class – an even fifteen. That meant there had to be at least one pair that would be boy-girl. The only thought that went through her mind was – _please don't let me be matched up with a Twihard._ Laughter started ringing out as a scrawny boy in the third row was paired up with an equally scrawny girl in the fifth. More laughter as several other boy-girl pairings were given out and even Heather found herself chuckling just a little. Of course, she stopped laughing when her name was said and followed by Nathan Turabian. She glanced around and saw the boy she'd seen at church looking rather disgruntled. When the teacher finished listing names – only two followed Heather's – someone with the last name of McCormick and another of Nessim – the students started to move. Rather than waiting for her to move, Nathan came over and plunked himself into the desk Johnathan had vacated and turned it towards her. 

This was not the news that Nate had wanted – at all. Being assigned a partner was one thing, but being assigned the new kid? Having only seen her in church, the only thing he could tell about her was that she had a nice singing voice – but taking her out of the context he usually saw her in, all he could see was a timid and very sad looking girl. She'd barely said a thing in the three weeks she'd been here. He sighed and opened his notebook – he'd actually had this diorama planned out from almost the moment he first heard about the project – he even had planned on asking Joe Lowery, the resident book geek, to be his partner – knowing he could bully the meeker classmate into agreeing with him on everything. That, of course, went straight out the window, because odds were, Heather hadn't read _The Dangerous Days of Daniel X._ “I'm not doing _Twilight_.” 

Heather blinked. “I should hope not. I wouldn't do that unless there was serious bribe involved.” Irritation was starting to kick in – her assumption of Nate from church was that he was at least a decent guy – but that was rapidly depleting. “I'm Heather, by the way, nice to meet you, Nathan.”

“It's Nate.” He gave her a pointed look. “I don't want to be rude, but I've been looking forward to this project all year and my plans just got ruined, so excuse me if I'm upset. This is a huge thing to me, so it'd really mean a lot to me if you'd just follow along with the plans I've already made... so...”

“Excuse me?” She gave him a disgusted look. “But who the hell died and made you Lead Traveler?”

“No one... I just...” He stopped. “Wait, you've read _Pendragon_?”

“Shouldn't everyone?” 

This changed things – a lot. “Well... yeah.” He tapped his notebook with his pen. 

“How big are these dioramas supposed to be anyway? Like shoe-box size or what?”

“Uh...” He folded his arms and set them on the desk. “There's not a standard size, my mom got a new dishwasher back in October and I snagged the box from that – so that's....”

“That's pretty big yeah...” Heather bit her lip, thinking. “We could probably pull off the Tato match from _The Quillian Games_ – all we need is a hubcap, some fishing line, two action figures... and a lot of paint.”

A grin slowly started to form on Nate's face. “If you can pull off the platform, I can definitely get the inside of the box done...” He frowned. “But we should have back ups, just in case....”

Heather felt herself smiling, ideas clicking into place. “Simple, do the Mouraj Training Camp from _Rivers of Zadaa_ – just need a lot of cardboard and sandpaper...”

“What about doing Solara from _Soldiers of Halla_ – I'm not talking with all the Travelers, but maybe with just Bobby and Uncle Press?”

“That could work too...” She frowned. “It'd take a lot of cotton balls, though...”

Nate wrote the three down on the paper, feeling much better than he had when he first heard Ms. Fasci's announcement. Maybe, just maybe – a few weeks from now – because there's no way he's going to bring it up any time sooner – he can find out who her angel friend is. 

Heather bit her lip before speaking again. “Uh Nate, I've not been down to the library yet.. do you know if they have the series here?”

“No, they don't.” He rolled his eyes. “Plenty of really old stuff though...” He leaned back in his seat. “Don't you have a copy of the series?”

“I... I used to.” She rubbed her nose, looking down at her notebook.

Nate could tell just by looking that something was wrong and he bit off the question of asking if her parents had accidentally given it away. He frowned and leaned forward. “Uh... what happened to it? If you don't mind me asking...”

Heather glanced up. “It got destroyed in a fire... the only book I've still got is my copy of _Raven Rise_.”

“That sucks, I'm sorry...” He'd be devastated if he lost his entire book collection too. “But you'll get new copies, right? I mean, insurance and stuff...”

“I... I don't think so...” Heather didn't want to discuss this – least of all with a stranger. She winced as she felt her eyes tear up.

“Oh, crap...please don't cry... I hate it when girls cry...” He leaned over onto the counter next to him and set the Kleenex box on her desk. 

“Thanks.” She took one and sniffled.

“Your parents send you here to Sioux Falls while they work on recovery or something?”

“Something...” She swallowed and looked down again, hating the tears stains she saw on her notebook.

“Damn... I can't imagine how hard that must be...” Nate was thinking of his own house, with all the things he was familiar with – and then it being gone. Hell, he didn't blame her for crying. Although why her parents weren't going to be replacing her lost books he couldn't imagine. Then a thought sprang into his mind and it horrified him – _What if there are no parents to replace them?_ He swallowed again, hating how unnerved he was getting. “Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you at the beginning.”

“It's okay.” Heather took a deep breath and looked up. “I'll be okay.”

“I'm... I'm sorry about... you know...” He made a weak gesture. “About your books... and your... your other stuff.”

“Thanks.” She replied and she meant it. She wasn't sure if Nate had figured out that it was more than just books she'd lost.

Nate spoke before he could stop himself. “Is that why you have that angel with you in church?”

“Sort of.” She hauled up her bag as the bell rang. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Sure.” Nate replied as he tossed the box of tissues back to where it was originally and started to gather up his own things. Heather was already gone by the time he looked up. “Damn...” He barely registered his friend Luke whining about being stuck with doing something from _Harry Potter_. He had to wonder if that set of books had also been lost in the fire at Heather's house. He had the overwhelming urge to tell his friend to shut up.

***

Sam and Dean stepped into the back of the lecture hall, noting the few students in the back row who turned and glanced at him and then went back to paying attention to the professor. Given the area, Sam figured the kids were used to seeing men in suits constantly. He stood under the clock, keeping his focus on the man down at the front of the room. A small wave of nostalgia swept over him and it almost made him long for Stanford again. Of course, one look at the equations on the board and he was knew instantly that not majoring in statistics was a good thing. 

“All right...” Noah set down the chalk and turned towards the class. “The theory goes that every person on this planet is connected to everyone else by no less than six people. The Internet itself is largely to take the credit for this. Just as everyone you went to high school with is connected to everyone in this classroom, so to is everyone in your mafia on Facebook.” The class let out a general chuckle at that. “The theory also states that in fifty years, given the spread of technology, the connection between people could go down to four people.” He leaned against the long lab table at the front of the area he was speaking in. “To give you an example of this, is anyone here from South Dakota?” Noah looked over his seventy students and got no response. “Anyone know anyone in South Dakota?”

Several people raised their hands and the brothers exchanged glances, but didn't move. 

Noah took note of the man under the clock and checked the time before continuing. “Sioux Falls?”  
Sam and a student in the middle of the classroom kept their hands raised. “All right...” He glanced at the seating chart. “Nadia, is it?”

“Yes.” The girl replied.

“Do you know anyone at Patrick Henry Middle School?”

“No.” 

“That's okay, this will still work....” He started to pace. “It's currently quarter to eleven here and a quarter of ten in Sioux Falls. In exactly five minutes I'm going to let you all out of here to go do whatever it is for your next class, have lunch... I don't know where you're going, but you're leaving here. When I let you out of this classroom, my sister is going to be letting thirty seventh graders out of her classroom for their next class. That's thirty kids you don't know... but my sister knows them, I know my sister and you know me. If you take in all two hundred of my sister's students and the fact that she probably knows all six hundred students in that school... that's a lot of kids you don't know, but yet you share a connection too.” He shut his lesson plan book. “Think about this also... in four years, any ninth grader at my sister's school could be sitting in this classroom... and for him or her, the connection to that school is already one degree...and as it is the weekend... all I can say is be prepared for a possible pop quiz on Monday on the first part of chapter six.”

Dean winced slightly. “Are all college professors like this?”

“Not any I had.” Sam replied. “Then again, I never took statistics.”

They waited for the students to file out of the classroom and watched as Professor Levin started packing up his things before heading down to the bottom of the lecture hall. “Noah Levin?”

Noah turned and put down the eraser. “Yes?”

“I'm Nick Shaw, from the Middleton Institute...” Dean nodded to his brother. “This is James Parkington. I don't know if my supervisor called you or not... cell service has been sketchy as of late.”

“Uh, no...” Noah came over to the table, studying the two men with a slight frown. “I was unaware you made calls like this.”

“It's not routine.” Sam said, holding out his hand for the man to shake, which he did. “Just a few questions, that's all.”

“More questions.” Noah smiled faintly. “Seems that's all I do lately, answer questions.”

“I know the feeling.” Sam said as Dean shook the man's hand as well and he took out a small notebook and set it on the table. “Now, you and your sister were both adopted, correct?”

“Yes.” Noah leaned against the table, frowning. “Different agencies were used... all I know about my natural parents was that one was of English and Welsh decent and one of Greek...” He frowned when he saw Nick Shaw give him an odd glance. “Is there something wrong? This should all be in my file.”

“Oh, it's just routine, sir.” Sam set his pen down. 

“Anything else you're aware of, about the adoption.”

“I'm not really looking for my birth family to establish a relationship... yes, I'm open to it, but if they want to be left alone, I respect that. I just want to know where I come from. I'm guessing that they were only doing what was best, leaving me in that hospital and walking out... or so I assume.”

“Meaning?” Dean thought this story sounded somewhat familiar. He and Sam had exchanged glances at the mention of 'Greek' heritage.

“You must be new.” Noah shook his head and started putting things in his bag. “According to what I was told, a nurse found me in a cardboard box with blankets under a chair in Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City.”

“Really?” Sam picked up his notebook.

Noah stretched his arms to the side, gripping the table. “I actually didn't start thinking about it until recently... are either of you adopted?”

“No.” Dean replied. 

“Then you don't know what it's like... you see strangers on a train and wonder if they know your parents, especially if they give you an odd look like they know you and they don't. Then you wonder about that family that does know where you come from... and maybe they know you exist...” He took a deep breath. “My mom has always said I am far to curious for my own good. She still says its a good thing my dad talked me out of forensic science because I'd be working my way through every cold case in the FBI's files.”

“There's no harm in searching, Mr. Levin.” Dean clicked his pen and he heard footsteps hurrying down the stairs. 

“Excuse me, Dr. Levin.” Another student stood there, looking slightly winded.

“Jeremy, you didn't run all the way here, did you?”

“If I'd have walked, I would have missed you.” He opened his bag and pulled out a file folder. “Here.” He held it out.

Noah took it. “Thank you for doing this.”

“No problem... I mean, my aunt did sell you the house in the first place.” He grinned and headed back up the stairs. “Let me know if you need anything else!” 

Sam frowned. “Some thing wrong with your house, Mr. Levin?” 

Noah shoved the folder into his briefcase. “Not that I care to discuss. We finished?”

“Yeah...if we need any more information we will call you.” Dean said, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Thank you.” He shouldered his bag, picked up his coat and started up the stairs.

Sam waited until the man was gone to speak. “You think he's like Heather?”

“Highly likely... abandoned in a hospital... makes you wonder how they knew he was partially Greek.”

“Maybe there was information in the box with him, or something.” They started up the stairs. “If he is... then that could explain why he didn't get sick.”

“It makes me wonder just what else he's immune to.” As they reached the top of the stairs, they turned into the flow of traffic, heading for the exit. “Still doesn't explain why he looks familiar...I mean, not like Muse familiar, more familiar than that...”

“I don't think the question now is why is he immune – but why the illness happened in the first place.” Sam said as they went out into the cold January air.

***

“I still do not understand why you think the Muses would be aware of what Lucifer is doing.” Castiel frowned as he handed Gabriel another container of salt. 

“Call it a hunch.” The archangel sighed. “Besides, it can't have escaped your notice that the Muses don't exactly volunteer information.”

The angel merely tilted his head in response. “I suppose that is true.”

“Don't worry, it's not so much Lucifer I want to know about, but rather what they haven't been telling us.” Gabriel started to pour a long thin line of salt in an even pattern on the floor. “I already know what our brother is up to, somewhat. I know that he raised Famine almost a month ago and let that Horseman loose in South America. The reason it's been quiet on that front is because he's working through isolated villages that don't have easy contact with the outside world.” He finished making the last of the lines. “And before you ask, I've considered going after Horseman, but Lucifer is staying close by him – and I really don't feel like getting killed.”

Castiel stepped outside of the many rings of sea salt and goofer dust carefully so he wouldn't disturb any of their work, being particularly careful when it came to the ring of holy oil at the half way point, and upon reaching the outer ring, started adding various herbs to a dish. “Gabriel, may I ask you something?”

The archangel made his way back to stand next to Castiel. “I know what you want to know, little brother... if I was to chose one word for how our father is, I would say that he's very...” He paused, thinking. “Melancholy – or he was, last I saw him. It pains him to see the things he loves acting the way they do.” He set down the empty container. “It hurts, Castiel... to know that we should all care about one another yet so many suffer.”

“Why doesn't he put an end to the suffering?”

“If he did that, Castiel... then there would be no point in living.” He took the dish of herbs and set it down between to of the rings. “There's just going to be one problem with this.”

“Which is?”

“Muses are never happy about being summoned anywhere.” Gabriel snorted. “This used to be much easier.” He shook his head and took the bowl from him and went and set it on the floor. He crouched down, holding his hand over the bowl and started to chant softly in Enochian. A flash of flame flickered down from the archangel's fingertips and landed dead center of the herbs, causing the mixture to flare up once and then, the center ring of holy oil ignited as a gust of wind filled the room, breaking all the lines but the one of fire. When the grit, dust and salt settled, Gabriel stood up and smirked at the trapped figure roughly ten feet from him and Castiel. “Good morning, Melpomene.”

The Muse glared at him and then flicked her eyes at Castiel before speaking. “You have something against telephones, Gabriel?”

“I prefer to do some things the old fashioned way.” He folded his arms. “We catch you at a bad time?” The muse was garbed in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a tank shirt. 

The muse stood, arms akimbo. “Not really... fortunately, I was already awake.” She glanced at Castiel. “By the way, Claire says hi and yes, she's doing exactly as you asked.”

The angel frowned. “That is not why we called you here.”

“I didn't think so.” She flicked her gaze back to Gabriel. “You're the ones who summoned me, since neither of you are mortals, I'll just skip the pedagogy that normally occurs and just ask, how may I help you today?”

“Civility.” Gabriel snorted. “Melpomene, I am surprised at you.”

“Oh I'm plenty pissed, right now...” She sighed. “But as I left my weapons at home and you have me at a disadvantage, if I play nicely you'll let me out of here sooner.”

“Why is Lucifer kidnapping women?” Castiel said, with no preamble.

“Is he?” Melpomene frowned. “How many have gone missing?”

“Don't play stupid, Muse.” Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “I know you know something.”

“What makes you say I would know why your brother is doing what he is?”

“Because you were there when Michael shoved him into the cage the first time.” For the briefest of moments his eyes flashed with their true color. “You had to have seen something – and don't answer with a riddle.”

“Oh that's actually a very easy thing to answer – your brother Lucifer is a hypocrite.” She smirked. “And my sister Persephone was an unfaithful windbag.”

For a moment the two angels stared at her – one in confusion and the other in shock. “Wait....” Gabriel started. “You mean... the two of them....”

“Yeah.” She flicked her gaze to Castiel. “I don't know if this conversation is fit for his almost-innocent ears.” She smirked as she saw a faint tinge of red appear on the angels' cheeks. “Have you heard where Dean took him before they went and talked to Raphael?”

“This is not the time to discuss this...” Gabriel had caught the flash of memory from Castiel and was doing his best not to laugh. “Just... what is he doing with the women?”

“Well, my assumption would be that he's going to try and bring Persephone back – and for that he needs a body... and nine sacrifices. I do not know what his criteria for choosing them is, or where he's keeping them.”

“Persephone is dead then?”

“Very.” She squared her shoulders as Castiel seemed to regain his composure. “The only trouble is, she is not where he would assume her to be.”

“Where is she?” Castiel asked, frowning.

“The Oblivion.” She let her shoulders slump. “Now, is there anything else I can answer for you?”

Gabriel was still trying to process the fact that his brother who despised anything that was not of his Father or angels sleeping with a pagan god that he almost didn't notice when Castiel spoke again.  
“Is what Erato told me true?”

“What did Atty tell you?” She looked genuinely confused, having not talked to that particular sister recently.

“About why your and two of your sister's children can see angels.” 

“If she told you what I think she told you, then yes it is.” She moved her arms so that they were behind her back, one wrist held with the other. “Now that Cori's finished puking her guts out, she's feeling much better... now if we can just get to stop trying to scrub her skin off, she should be good.” She glanced at Gabriel. “I take it you already told your big brother here.”

“About you drinking Apollo's blood, yes.” He inwardly smirked, rather pleased he'd known something the archangel hadn't. 

“Did you mention both parts, or could you not bring your almost-innocent mouth to say something as vulgar as sex?”

“I would greatly appreciate it if you would not mock me, Muse.” Castiel glowered at her. “I still do not see how your children are able to do it, as Erato told me...” 

Several windows shattered in the abandoned warehouse and Melpomene's eyes went solid blue. “It has to be _consensual_ , asshole.”

Gabriel looked from his brother to the Muse. “Cas, I think we've learned what we needed to here...” He snapped his fingers and sent him away to somewhere in the vicinity of the Singer Salvage Yard. Now alone with Melpomene, he relaxed ever so slightly. “You may be onto something with his innocent ears.” 

The muse folded her arms, eyes back to normal, sighing. “I take it you want to know more.” 

“Well for one, I'd like to know how Apollo is still breathing, if he's done what I think he has.”

“The only reason he's still wasting oxygen is the fact that maman hasn't decided yet how to kill him. Although I think she may finally be settling on the liquid nitrogen and the cake knife.”

The archangel started to walk around the ring of holy oil, frowning. “So I take it the other rumor is true too, yes?”

“Which one? I know lots of rumors.”

“You and Michael.”

“That's only _mostly_ true. He's not going to come down to my level, I know that for sure and certain.” She sighed. “You know Castiel's probably going to be pretty pissed with you, yes?”

“I don't care.” He stopped, glancing at her. “So why don't you tell me how Lucifer intends to open a portal into the neither-realm of Elysium... no angel and no demon can do it.”

“I told Dean that the ability to see angels was both a blessing and a curse. The children who can see them can open the portal... but only on a certain day and in a certain location.” She rubbed her face, starting to feel rather warm trapped in the fire. “I don't suppose you'd let me out of here so we can talk like more civilized beings, would you?”

“I don't trust you not to run and I don't trust myself not to attack.” Gabriel sighed. “I don't know what will happen if Lucifer has that portal opened and Persephone is not there.”

“Odds are, the souls in that realm would be sent to the oblivion.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “There's a lot of good people in there.”

“I know.” Gabriel started pacing – he knew that Elysium held the souls of those who were good, yet knew nothing of his Father and those who were forced into evil against their will. Why they were refused Heaven, he did not know. “Knowing the Winchesters, they'd actually try and shove his ass in there... and he can't be in that realm.”

“Well, then, if you'd like to join in on the newly revised Apocalypse Plan D, you're more than welcome to.”

“Plan D?” He arched an eyebrow at her. “Now this I've not heard...”

“It's tricky, dangerous... and still requires the Winchester brother's consent, but it's a plan that Lucifer _doesn't_ know.”

“What does this entail?” 

“Reopening Lucifer's cage with the Horseman rings and the portal into Elysium at the same time... since Psyche is the keeper of that gate, she could, if asked, be able to pull Sam Winchester's soul out of his body and then slam the door shut behind him – then Michael can shove Lucifer back into Hell or kill him. I'm thinking he's leaning towards the former. The soul of that poor man he's in now is almost completely burned away into nothing.”

“You aren't honestly going to ask your daughter to open up that portal, are you?” He was stunned. “How is the person who opens the portal supposed to not get sucked in there?”

“Who said anything about asking Heather?” She let out a deep breath. “If they fall in there body and soul, they can more or less walk right back out... or fall out, as the case may be...from what I understand, getting in there isn't like storming the gates of Hell.”

“Horseman rings, huh?” Gabriel knew how that worked, of course. “You are aware how dangerous this whole plan is, yes?”

“It's all dangerous, Gabriel.” She started to rub her shoulders. “But if you just want to sit back and watch it all fall apart, you're more than welcome.”

Gabriel moved until he was directly in front of her, separated by the ring of flame. “I just want it to be over.”

“I know you do.” She hugged herself, the fire starting to irritate her eyes. “But if you just want to sit back, pull pranks and go out with a smile, that's your own prerogative.”

“You don't know a damn thing about it...”

“How do you think my mother feels about this? Quite frankly, she doesn't know why Lucifer doesn't just suck it up and be a big boy, but that's my mom being an adult.”

“Shut your cake-hole.” He growled and started to pace again, although he was in full agreement with his sister on the matter of Lucifer growing up. “You do know that if we put the Devil back in the box, it just postpones everything.”

“Yes, but perhaps if we pull this off, all you lovely angels can have all your ducks in a row before you let Lucifer out the next time.”

Gabriel dug a candy bar out of his coat pocket and unwrapped it, frowning. “I wasn't there, in case you haven't noticed.”

“I know, Loki.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

He munched on the bar, grinning slightly as he realized she'd used his more common name, thinking. “Suppose I did agree to help with this idea... how long do we have?”

“We have until March twenty-seventh.”

“Where?”

“Bethel, New York.” She let out a deep breath. “I don't suppose you have a second one of those, do you?” She indicated the chocolate bar. “I've not had any breakfast.”

Gabriel glowered at her for a moment, but then reached into his coat pocket and tossed a Snickers Bar across the flames and she caught it. “Bethel...” He thought a moment. “Wait... that's where Woodstock was held.”

“Yes.” She unwrapped the bar. “Thank you for the chocolate.” She took a large bite, manners be damned.

“Woodstock...” He grinned faintly. “That... was one hell of a party.”

“You went too?” She said after swallowing her bite of candy.

“Anyone who didn't missed it.” He took another bite of his own bar. “I take it you know where the gatekeeper is.”

“Sure, he's in Potomac, Maryland.” She shook her head. “Clio already knows all about this, so please don't make her more worried than she already is.”

Gabriel swallowed and smirked. “I suppose I can gank a horseman...but if Dean and Sam play their roles, who's going to be opening up the cage?”

“Michael opened the cage once, he can open it again.” She took a smaller bite of chocolate. 

“Well, why not....” He finished his bar of candy and stuffed the wrapper into his pocket. “Famine should be moving north soon... but I think I'll wait until I can get a fix on Pestilence instead.”

“All help is welcome at this point...”

“Just as long as Michael understands that I'm only doing this to _postpone_ the fight, not feed it. I do this, he agrees to put Lucifer back in his cage instead of killing him.”

“I'll pass the message along, or you can tell him yourself next time you see him.” She finished her own bar of chocolate. “Between you and me, I don't think he's going to object.”

“Whatever works.” He went across the room and picked up a bucket of water. “Might as well let you out now...” He threw the water at the base of the flames and it skimmed across the cement floor, extinguishing the fire. 

Melpomene let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet, we still have a long way to go.” He said as she stepped out of the burnt circle. “Just in case this doesn't work in Bethel...if it's not ready in time... where's the contingency location?”

“That would be Key West, Florida – on May second.” She rolled her shoulders. “The door can only be opened on the place where the gatekeeper's life begins – on the day that their father's ends. And FYI, Death knows all about this and is on-board with the idea – just as soon as the other two rings are acquired, he'll help with the rest.”

Gabriel thought for a moment. “I take it Lucifer has already located the gatekeeper.”

“He's not sure if the man can do it yet or not. He just knows the man is a half-blood.” She glanced at him. “May I go now, or is there anything else you need?”

“No.” The angel shook his head and the Muse vanished. Somehow, this idea seemed next to impossible to pull off, but what the hell... if it prevented the fight for another couple of millennium, then he was all for it. Now how his brothers were going to get the Winchesters to consent, he had no idea. If all he had to do was take care of Pestilence...well, he'd play his role in this plan. He just prayed everyone else did theirs.

***

The cardboard box was already opened and sitting on the kitchen table when Heather got home. It was addressed to her, with the return address in the corner being the post office in Jasper. She guessed that Uncle Bobby had opened it just to make sure it wasn't something 'dangerous.' She lifted the first layer of bubble wrap and looked down at four other bubble wrapped packages nestled inside. The letter had stated that these were things found in the ashes of the house in Jasper. Things that weren't totally destroyed – or almost destroyed. “You didn't look at any of this, did you?” Heather said to Bobby, who was sitting in the door-frame.

“No, kid, I didn't. Just opened it... that's all.” He found it wrong that a family's entire history could be shoved into a box of any size. Hell, the Winchesters had a storage locker in New York – but that was all. “How was school today?”

“Not bad...” She shrugged and pulled out the largest of the four objects, carefully unwrapping it. “I'd forgotten about this....” She set down a heavy water pitcher that was bright yellow. “Mom almost never got this out...” Heather grinned very slightly. “Her sister got confused about the color of her Fiestaware... it was supposed to be ivory, not sunflower...” 

“It's a decent size...” He wheeled himself over to the table. “Looks like they washed it for you...”

“Yeah...” She sat down and turned the jug over in her hands. “I actually liked this one better....”

*

Heather set the culmination of a twenty-five year marriage and thirteen years of parenting in a row on her dresser. In addition to the pitcher, there was a stone angel that was now missing one of it's wings that had been in her room, a soup bowl that had been a part of her parent's wedding china and an awkward looking ceramic pencil holder she'd made her dad in Brownies when she was in first grade. While all of them had been cleaned of ash and soot, they were still a reminder to her that home, her parents – it was all gone. There was no returning. She picked up her teddy bear, hugged it tightly and stared at what was left of that home. Not for the first time, the idea entered into her head that if her parents had not moved away from their home in Indianapolis, none of this would have ever happened. Taking a deep breath she set the bear back down and went to wash her face and hands before going down for dinner.

**

On the night of the twenty fourth of January, two thousand and ten in the city of Sioux Falls, South Dakota – Heather learned what it meant to have someone test your faith. She always thought things like that happened only in the Bible and usually involved having God ask you to kill someone you cared about. For her, the test came in the form of one very angry angel, who'd had enough of her blind optimism in his Father and an old hunter, who told her to grow up. As she stood there, staring from one to the other, her hand shaking from where Castiel had dropped an amulet she'd not gotten a good look at in it, telling her that 'if you think God cares so much, why don't you go and find him?' She swallowed hard, knowing that they could shoot down any argument she tried to make about it. She wasn't to sure how the two had come to the conclusion that God didn't care to fix the problem and therefore, didn't care about anything – but there she stood, unable to come with a single reason for them not to give up hope, she felt her own resolve starting to crumble. It would be easy to sit back down in her chair, to let them tell her she was wrong, that everything she ever heard was wrong. Michael had told her only _five_ angels had ever seen God and the rest had to take it on faith. Strangely, she remembered the passage from _Prince Caspian_ when Lucy saw Aslan and none of the others believed her... and later Aslan asked why she didn't come alone. She felt very, very alone in that moment as her fingers closed around the golden figure, the sharp points digging into her palm, barely able to speak. “Maybe I am just a kid and don't know any better...” She felt the tears starting to prick the corners of her eyes. “But faith is the only thing I have left.” Her voice became more steady. “And I'm not giving that up... not for you, not for anyone...” With that, she turned and ran up the stairs, shoving the chair under the doorknob, not that she expected that sort of thing to keep Castiel out, but she stood there, a sob caught in her throat as she stared at the door, almost waiting for it to fly open. Five minutes went by, ten minutes went by – after fifteen, she moved closer to the door and could hear the angel and Bobby's conversation – part of which included 'overemotional teenager' and 'still grieving' – it was enough to make her want to scream.

Instead, she put on her headphones, drowning out any conversation and buried herself under the covers, hoping the two downstairs can't hear her weeping. Late in the night, in the middle of a dream, Michael stops calling her 'Heather Grace' and just calls her Grace. When her alarm goes off at five in the morning, Grace Kittredge got out of bed and got ready for school. As she hauled her bag downstairs and made a pot of coffee for the still sleeping Bobby, she knew that she couldn't be plain Heather Kittredge any longer. Heather, Grace reflected, was a little girl who swung from monkey bars and knew how to laugh. 

Grace hoped she could find the lost girl's laughter some day. After eating a bowl of cereal and cleaning the dishes from last night, she headed out into the Monday morning air. She knows that people will still call her Heather, but Heather is someone she doesn't know how to be anymore. Now there's just Grace. If Uncle Bobby wanted her to grow up, well then... this was how she was going to do it.


	17. Waiting for the World to Change

It was Astrid, a pale blond woman from Helsinki, who brought the news to Jo and the others that it was now the end of January. Jo felt that the lack of knowing how time was progressing was one of the most disturbing things of their being there. She'd not shared her thoughts on why Lucifer was keeping them there, that would just be inviting them into mass suicide. Astrid brought the group of women to five – the woman from Argentina was named Olivia. Rather than wait for the rest of the five beds to be filled and all of them forced into having roommates, all of them, except Astrid – paired up and started sharing rooms. Like the first three, Olivia and Astrid had been alone when they 'disappeared' – Olivia had been walking back to her apartment late at night and Astrid had been on her way home from making a supply run for an observatory in the far northern part of Finland. 

It was Astrid who was also able to inform them that there didn't seem to a massive search underway for the other four – and, as she'd vanished from the cockpit of a small Cessna twin-engine plane, odds were, no one was going to be looking for her either. Jo was starting to get the impression that they'd all been given up for dead. Well, at least in the case of everyone except Kaori and Olivia – and possibly Cathy. As for her and Astrid... forget it. Of course, she hated to think the Winchester brothers and Bobby Singer would give up that easily. But they had other things to tackle – namely Lucifer himself. Very little changed in the room – the food remained of high quality and with new addition to the group, the choices in the food expanded – although Jo wasn't ready to try the sushi. 

With the movies and the books growing dull – and the lack of much else to do, Kaori and Olivia had started teaching Jo and Cathy their respective languages of Japanese and Spanish – and in turn, the two of them taught the other two more English – including a lot of 'colorful' phrases that had been left out of Kaori and Olivia's classes on the subject. They also discovered a laundry room tucked into what they had originally thought was a closet – and, much like with the DVDs – the measure of time it took to clean something was no certain way of keeping time. Before Astrid arrived, after what they guessed to be about two or three hours after Olivia got up to speed with the others, they'd settled down to start watching Season 2 of _The Tudors_ – three episodes later, an hour and a half by the player's standard – Astrid was there.

Jo knew that by this – it could already be the middle of February. If it was, and they were all arriving at a rate of one about every two weeks – then it should not be to much longer until the sixth member of the group arrived. But what didn't make sense was the large gap of time between when she arrived and when Cathy did. Perhaps it was timing – there was the whole attempted raising of Famine thing at the end of November. She sighed and tucked her hands behind her head, staring at the ceiling, listening to Cathy's very light snores as she slept. Or perhaps, just _perhaps_ the girl from Brisbane was selected before the others for a certain reason. Sitting up, Jo curled up, wrapping her legs in her arms and resting her chin on her knees, observing her roommate. She tried to tell herself that the reason for the gap was other things started happening – _but what if it isn't?  
_  
Giving up on sleep, Jo rose from her bed and went into the main room, where Astrid was sitting on one of the sofas, watching a movie she couldn't identify. “You couldn't sleep either?”

“Nae.” The woman sighed and sank further into the cushions. “Have you ever seen this?”

“I don't know what it is.” Jo sat down on the other end of the sofa.

“It's _Babette's Feast_. The villagers nursed the main character back to health... as payment, she spends her fortune on feeding the town a feast just like the one at the restaurant she worked at in Paris.”

“I've never even heard of that...” Jo took one of the pillows and hugged it to her. 

“Not surprised. It's an old movie.” Astrid rested her head on the arm of the couch. “Where do you suppose we are?”

“I don't know.” Jo had tried not to think about it. “My grasp on what angels can do isn't to strong... for all we know, this entire place is a construct stuck in a closet, or something...”

Astrid closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them. “I wish I could go home. I suspect we all do...” 

“Yeah...” Jo didn't want to mention she didn't really have a home – not since the Roadhouse burned to the ground three years ago. For all her mother's protests about her hunting, Jo's streak of rebellion had ended up saving her life. A lack of pretzels had saved her mother's... at least, until the fire. Jo still wanted her mom more than anything. She glanced over at Astrid, studying the woman with the same sort of discernment she'd looked at the others with. Like her, the woman was blond and pale skinned, but whereas Jo gave off an aura of toughness the girl from Finland seemed more... refined.

*

Nate closed his math book and started to put his finished homework back into his backpack for tomorrow – he was very glad tomorrow was Friday. He and Heather had gotten their first choice of books – _The Quillian Games_ – and Heather had stated that she was going to go look for materials on Saturday. He already knew that she lived out at Singer Salvage Yard, five miles from where he did – but the distance might as well have been fifty in terms of living. Nate had only seen the owner of the salvage yard once, he and his dad had gone to Singer Salvage in search of a door for his mom's late model sedan. The place was strange to him – all chaos and, if he was perfectly honest, rather creepy. It was the sort of place where a zombie movie's climax would be set – or at least, a really good fight scene in it. If this is where Heather was now living, he came to the conclusion that Heather's parents _had_ to be dead... he couldn't think of anyone going to live with the cantankerous Mr. Singer voluntarily. Given the fact that she called the man 'Uncle Bobby' he also had to wonder where the relation was... it was just to damn crazy. His weekend plans were just to watch the Superbowl with his dad – like they always did. 

Nate left his room and went downstairs to the kitchen, where his mom was working on her grocery lists for tomorrow – he never understood why his mom, who stayed at home – waited until Friday to do the food shopping – he figured it had to be the sales. “Hey mom.”

“Hi. Finish your homework?” She looked up from the Hy-Vee add. 

“Yeah.” He went to the fridge and took out the milk and poured himself a glass. “What's this week's big sale?” 

“Same as it always is this time of year – junk food.” She shook her head and looked back down at her list. 

“Dad not back from the Hall yet?” Nate's father was a member of their church's Knights of Columbus order. 

“No... I think they're having some kind of degree thing tonight... I will never figure out how all that works...” She looked up and gave him a smile as he came over to the table. “Sort of like all those Boy Scout ranks of yours...”

Nate rolled his eyes as he sat down. “Mom, it's not that hard...” 

“Humor your mother, young man.” She set her pen down. “Is something bothering you?”

“Sort of...” He took a deep gulp of milk. “It's just... there's this new kid in my class.. the girl I've got to do the diorama project with...” He sighed. “I uh... she's not said it directly but.... but I think she doesn't have any parents.”

Julia Turabian looked up from the add, her face drawn in slight worry. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, for one... she said there was a fire at her house... she told me she lost like, all her books except one of them... and uh... well, she lives with her uncle now... and she also mentioned her books wouldn't be replaced, which didn't make sense to me, because doesn't insurance cover that?”

“It does.” She shook her head. “Poor thing.”

“I mean... I don't _know_ if her parents are dead... I... I really don't want to ask her, or anything.” He took another swallow of milk.

“Sounds to me like what that girl needs is a friend.” She gave her son a stern look. “I don't want you to go asking her to many questions.”

“I won't mom.” He drained the last of his milk. “I just wish I could do something to help her though. She doesn't really seem like the kind of person who'd ask for it...”

“Some people are like that, Nate.. they would rather try to deal with their problems in their own way – rather than to have people help them. They may need help, but they'd never admit it.”

“Still doesn't change the fact that they need it.”

“I know.” She sighed. “Just be patient with her on your project – I think that's probably the best thing you can do for her right now.”

“Okay mom.” He put his glass in the dishwasher. “Good night.”

“Night.”

After brushing his teeth, Nate went back into his room and paused when he came to his bookshelf. The thing was nearly packed with books – and he paused over his slightly-battered copy of _The Quillian Games_ – he was about to pull it out and shove it into his backpack when he caught sight of the boxed set of hardback Pendragon books he'd gotten for Christmas. He pulled out the edition of _Quillian_ from the set and put it into his bag. He tells himself this isn't charity and this isn't a gift – it's to help on their project. Besides, he doesn't need two copies of the book... and besides – he'd already written a very nice thank you to his grandmother for the gift. 

She would understand why he did it. He hoped.

**

Sam had been in a lot of libraries in his life – and he had come to the conclusion that the Library of Congress was in fact, the quietest he'd ever been in. He figured a large part of that was the massive sign on the front doors that said no one under fifteen was admitted – not even for a tour, it seemed – and an equally intimidating stating that cell phones and pagers had to be turned off or put on vibrate – _absolutely_ no exceptions. Dean had gone to the bathroom – the research was starting to get to him. So here Sam was, looking through records of unexplained phenomenon here in the capitol – there was enough information piled up around him for someone to write a graduate thesis on the subject. He was actually fairly engrossed in the supposed string of ghosts in the Smithsonian Institute that he hadn't noticed someone had sat down across the table from him for several minutes. When he did, he nearly jumped and was very relieved he managed not to shout.

Sitting across the table from him was a young man, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, with spiky blond hair and gray eyes. The dark hooded sweatshirt probably made him look younger than he was – and Sam watched as the boy tracked something behind him with his eyes and a moment later, Dean was sitting next to him.

“You got a problem, kid?” Dean said, his voice just above a whisper.

The boy looked from one to the other. “The devil's in town. The two of you should shag ass out of here before he finds out. Or rather finds out where you are, odds are, he already knows you're here.”  
Sam frowned. “Who are you?”

“Let's just say I'm someone who doesn't want to see the world end.” His eyes flicked back from one brother to the other. He reached into his pocket and drew out a scrap of paper, holding it out to them. “When you're far enough away from here, call this number. My aunt Atty won't mind bringing you up to speed. Now the two of you get out of here before the devil turns this place to ash looking for Samuel and inadvertently instigates a nuclear holocaust.” With that the young man stood and walked away, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Who the hell you think that was?” Sam said.

“I dunno, but if he's right, we have to get out of here.” 

“Right with you.” Though he was loathe to leave the research behind. The two of them stood and went in the direction of the exit. Once they got into the Impala, Sam silently thankful they'd checked out of the motel in Maryland this morning he finally spoke. “Okay, so if we're off demon and angel radar, who could that have been?” 

Dean pursed his lip as he maneuvered the car towards the interstate in the blessedly light traffic. “Pagan god.” He shook his head. 

“I know that – they're just about the only thing left that can find us. Maybe we should look into getting some hex bag mojo to keep those guys away again.” He shivered involuntarily at the memory of the pair they'd run into in Michigan a few years ago. “The question is, which one was it?”

“Well...” Dean sighed. “I think Atty is one of the muses – which means we're dealing with another one of their group...” He shook his head as they pulled onto the interstate. “Come to think of it, how did we agree to leave so easily?” A moment later he glanced over at Sam and blinked – Sam wasn't Sam. It was the kid. “What the fuck?” The car jerked to the left and then to the right. 

“You know, I'm risking my ass poking in your head like this.” 

“I'm dreaming?” Dean said as he straightened the Impala out and the traffic was suddenly gone – there was nothing but open road.

“Yes, Sherlock, you're dreaming.”

“But the thing about Lucifer being in town?”

“Oh yeah, that's real.” The kid folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. “So as soon as you wake up, I'm suggesting you and your bro hightail it out of here.”

“Who are you?”

“They call me Sulley these days... after the big blue guy in _Monsters Inc_.” 

“What's that?”

“You don't know one of your own kid's favorite movies?” He shook his head. “Look, I have to make this quick before someone catches me.”

“What is it?”

“I hate to break this to you, but stopping the Apocalypse just got a deadline.” 

“Huh?”

“Lucifer has his heart set on getting something... I mean, besides your brother a vessel.” The boy took a deep breath. “What I said to you about Atty is true... and you'll find her number in your cell when you wake up. But I wouldn't suggest calling her right away... wait until you get a good distance from DC.” Sully shook his head. “If the first key says no to Lucifer, he'll attempt to get the second... because he won't wait the time he has to for the third.”

“Keys?”

“The keys are people – given the task and what he'll offer and threaten to do, I doubt the first will refuse. In that, you have until the twenty-seventh of March.”

“What if this guy says no?”

“Then you have until May second.” Sully smirked. “But somehow, I don't think you want Lucifer getting a hold of _that_ key.” He shook his head. “Rise and shine, sleepy-head.” He leaned over and pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead and a moment later, Dean sat up in bed, breathing hard. It was four in the morning.

*

The Winchesters were no stranger to leaving in the middle of the night. The fact that they were leaving early enough to avoid rush hour was almost a plus. Sam took another sip of his coffee from the cardboard to-go cup, still not entirely awake. “So he said that these people were keys of some kind?”

“Yeah.” Dean kept one hand gripped on the steering wheel. “Today's the twenty-ninth of January... what do you suppose the deal is with March twenty-seventh. Something happen that day?”

“I'm not sure... but why that day...” He rubbed his eyes. “Less than two months... what do you think the keys are to, anyway?” He took another sip of coffee as they left Maryland and headed into Pennsylvania. 

“Something Lucifer wants that he can't get himself... but....” He frowned. “You think the key he's after is Noah Levin?”

“Possibly... if he is what we think he is...” Sam sank down slightly. “Shit... that would probably make Heather key number two...”

“ _Fuck_.” Dean snarled. “Good thing she can see angels...and she knows what's going on.”

“True.” Sam rubbed his eyes. “I take it this means you want to head back to South Dakota just to be doubly sure, right?”

“Absolutely. The sooner, the better.”

“Maybe that's what makes them keys... the ability to see angels.”

“We don't know if Noah can see them or not.” Dean shook his head. “I don't like this. I just hope Cas's phone starts working again... it's been a week.”

“Yeah...” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You check to see if that number is in your phone?”

“No...” He dug into his pocket and handed the phone to his brother. “You check.”

Sam frowned as he scrolled through the numbers. “What am I looking for?”

“Atty... or possibly Sully.” Dean said, shifting the Impala into another lane and then to an off-ramp that put them on I-70 west. He had a feeling the visitor in his head might have left his own for some other purpose.

“Sully....” Sam frowned. “Sully as in the big blue monster from _Monsters Inc_?”

“You've heard of it?”

“Dude,” Sam said, surprised. “It's a Pixar film... it's probably the only monster movie I actually have seen and _liked_.”  
*

“No answer?” Dean said after another hour.

“No.” Sam frowned. “So anyway... you wanted to know who Sully is.”

“Yeah.” 

“It's this silly movie about the monsters that live in kid's closets and collect screams for energy in their monster world... but it turns out the monsters are actually scared of the kids – it's been a long time since I've seen it, but in the end, they find out that children's laughter is actually a better power source...”

“Sounds horrible.” Dean shook his head.

“It's not that bad...” Sam frowned – he didn't want to mention the fact he'd only seen the movie because Jess had owned the DVD of it and loved said film. “Okay... so this guy was manipulating the whole dream?”

“It was weird... I mean... I swore it was real until he turned from you into himself... or at least, how he chose to look. These pagans are starting to piss me off as much as angels.” Dean shook his head. “He said he had special permission for being there... in my dreams or what have you...but was scared of someone finding him there.”

“Wait a second...” Sam leaned down and opened up his backpack and pulled a book out of it. “I think I know who your visitor might have been.” He flipped through a few pages. “Here he is... Morpheus... the Greek god of dreams... how the Greeks got tangled up in this angel and demon stuff so thoroughly is beyond me... I mean, it can't be just setting up camp next to Israel.” He chuckled. “This guy is pretty much both the monster under the bed and the thing that comes and kills it.”

“That's twisted. I'm starting to wonder just what is myth in that book and what's real.” He shook his head. 

“You and me both.” Sam frowned and scrolled through the contact list on his own phone. “I keep thinking that there's something about the twenty-seventh of March... like something happened...” 

“It's not anyone's birthday...” He frowned. “Wait... Morpheus said that the second possible deadline was May second... makes me wonder what the third one is.” He frowned. “Who are you calling?”

“Bobby... see if he can help us figure out this date thing...” He hit the number for the home number for the house in the salvage yard. “It's just after eight there, he should be up.” The phone rang twice before it was answered.

“Singer Salvage.” 

Sam frowned. “Heather?” He double checked his watch. “Aren't you supposed to be at school?”

“No school today on account of the good people of the Sioux Falls School District deciding that making students wait in minus thirty degree wind-chill for a bus was inhumane and could lead to some very big lawsuits.” Heather was sitting at Bobby's desk, slowly flipping through a book. 

“Yeah... say, could you put Bobby on the phone?” Sam grinned slightly.

“I would, but he's currently asleep nursing a very, very nasty cold – he told me if I disturbed him again he'd sell me to the circus.” Heather stood up and moved towards the kitchen and refilled her juice glass.

Sam gave Dean a sideways glance. He wondered if she was normally so talkative. “You haven't been sick, have you?”

“No...” She frowned. “I've not had a cold since December...there's a couple of kids in my class who are sick too, but that's typical.” 

“Good thing we're headed back to Sioux Falls then. Say, can you look something up for us?” 

He had a feeling Heather was looking around at all the books in the library. “Please tell me it's something simple.”

“Yeah it is...” He chuckled. “Can you look up March twenty-seventh for any sort of out of the ordinary events?”

“One second...” There was a thud of a glass on wood and a scrape of chair. 

“No problem.” Sam took another sip of coffee.

“Uh, how far back do you want me to look?”

He thought for a moment. “Any time after nineteen seventy.”

“Sure...” Heather was humming a song Sam didn't know under her breath. “I don't know what you mean by out of the ordinary. It's not like they list those sort of things... do you mean like, disasters or something?”

“Yeah...”

“Uh...” She let out a soft curse. “Like something that kills five hundred and eighty three people?”

Sam was glad he hadn't taken another sip of coffee. “ _How_ many?”

“Five hundred and eighty three.” There was a shuffle of noise. “Yeah, the Tenerife Airport Disaster... two planes crashed into one another... or something...”

“Tenerife... where is that?” Sam shot a look another look at Dean, who was trying to both drive and pay attention to the conversation.

“The Canary Islands... those are off the coast of Morocco.... that was in nineteen seventy-seven.” Another shuffling noise – it sounded like she took a drink of something. “Is that the kind of thing you were talking about?”

“Yeah..” Sam took another sip of coffee. “Look, don't worry about it... we're just trying to figure something out.”

“No problem.” She took a deep breath. “You know how you told me to tell you guys if something weird started happening... or happened?”

“Uh huh...”

“Well, there's this kid in my class at school.... um, I think he can see angels too. He's not said anything, but he was sitting front of me and Cas at church on Christmas... and he kind of looked over where Cas's head is... like he saw something more.” 

“Anything else going on?”

“No, just that.” He heard Heather take another sip of whatever she was drinking.

“Okay... well, we should be back by tomorrow afternoon. We'll talk more when we get back.”

“Sure. Drive carefully.”

“We will. Take care of yourself.” Sam hung up the phone. 

“What'd she find out?” Dean asked as he swerved past an eighteen wheeler.

“There was a plane disaster on March twenty-seventh in nineteen seventy seven... killed almost six hundred people.” He saw his older brother shudder in response – both to the mention of 'plane disaster' and the number of casualties. “She also said that there's a kid in her class who can see angels – she thinks.”

“Thinks?” Dean cursed softly as he slowed the Impala down and they headed into a construction zone. 

“Yeah, she's basing it off a look he gave Cas in church on Christmas.” He shook his head. “I'd just like to know what the keys are keys to... are they gates or something?”

“Gates to what?” Dean shook his head. “Can't be to Hell and I don't think it'd be to Heaven... and Melpomene told me that the half-blood children didn't have any special powers.”

“What if....” Sam pulled at his bottom lip for a moment. “The day you went to Hell.. that was May second.... what if the keys to whatever it is they're keys to can only be done on the day their fathers died?”

Dean shot a look over at his brother. “That's crazy.”

“No, it'd make some sense...”

“I am not getting on a plane.” Dean said through clenched teeth. 

“I don't think we'll need to...” Sam took another sip of his coffee. “I say we find out what Lucifer wants with the key... I guess we should just say Noah – and then figure out how to stop it.”

**

No one paid much attention to the man standing next to the door as they piled out of their last class of the week. Thoughts of going out, of the upcoming Superbowl Sunday and other plans edged out all others as they left the room, some chatting with friends, others putting on their earphones and flipping through their I-Pod play-lists and others checking phone messages. Lucifer watched them all with a very detached state of mind – hating them for nothing more than existing. He shifted his gaze to stare at a poster across the hallway, advertising some theater production. He wasn't concerned about having trouble with the man in the room. Humans might be flawed, but they were remarkably pliable about so many things. Like the animals they were, they responded to threats to their family very quickly.

“Are you okay?” A voice cut into his musings and he turned towards the voice, his face turning to a sneer as he was met with the gaze of a young girl, probably no older than nineteen. She took one look at his face and shrank back. “Sorry...”

Lucifer felt the corner of his mouth twitch. This smelly thing was actually _concerned_ about him even though she was scared. “I'm perfectly fine.” He could read her thoughts clear as day. There was something almost endearing about the what she was thinking. She was worried he might be ill and in need of some kind of medical help. _It's not like Nick's holding out all that well_. “I just need to talk to Noah.”

“Oh, you know Doctor Levin?” She smiled. 

“You might say that.”

“I'm the last person out... and sorry I was uh...” She went pink. “I was just concerned... about uh...” She made a small gesture on the side of her face. “Allergic reaction?”

Lucifer felt the corners of his mouth lift. This was just plain, old fashioned _excellent_ – it was almost like he was meeting Lilith all over again in the Garden of Eden. He knew he was going to be having fun in this girl's dreams tonight. “Something like that.”

“Eh...” She made a very poor attempt at hiding a grimace, but her concern was still evident. “I hope you feel better soon.” She gave him a small wave and headed down the hallway. 

Lucifer quietly shut the door behind him as he went into the classroom, the lock clicking silently. He got to the front row of desks, still completely unnoticed, just as he had planned. The room was on the third story – so there was no chance of an onlooker. He straightened his shoulders and broke the silence. “Noah Daniel.”

Noah's face jerked upward from the papers he was sorting and two seconds later, he was flat against the wall in shock. “uh...uh...” He looked from the man standing between the fourth and fifth desks to what was behind, in – somehow connected to the man and then back again. “Holy shit....” He visibly winced.

Lucifer felt an upsurge of delight. The man was both frightened and enthralled by him – and he could see him. “Noah Daniel.” He said again – he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

“I uh...” Noah was struck dumb. He swore the two angels he'd seen at Christmas were a figment of his imagination, but this – this was entirely different. He _couldn't_ be imagining this. He remembered the larger of the two from Christmas... the one close to ten feet tall... how _this_ one could even stand upright in a room with eight foot ceilings... no, it wasn't standing upright... it was sitting down.... it had to be... _It was sitting down and it's head was nearly at the ceiling – making the angel nearly twelve feet tall._ The wings were another story all together. He sank to the floor, staring upward, his face awash in shock and awe. “Who... what...”

Lucifer strode to the desk and looked down at the cowering man on the other side. “Noah Daniel?” He asked again.

“Ye.... yes?” 

He smiled in response, looking him over. “You have your mother's eyes....” He effortlessly moved so that he was sitting on the desk, still gazing down at him. “You're not the only one they abandoned... she's abandoned your siblings as well...” He shrugged, as if the matter was nothing. “Not that she wanted to...” 

“How... how do you know who....” Noah mentally kicked himself for even thinking the question. This was an angel he was talking to, after all.

“But you are the only one I've had the pleasure of meeting.” He smiled again. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Wh... what do you need me to do?” _Please don't say I have to kill someone, please, please, please..._

“Oh, I'd never ask you to kill someone.” Lucifer leaned forward. “It's actually very, very easy...I just need you to be somewhere.... on a certain day.”

“Where.... when?” _Please don't say the ruins of Antioch or something involving a long, long plane ride... please..._

“It's not that far.” He replied, answering the man's thoughts again. This was starting to be _fun_. “I need you to go to Bethel, New York.... I need you to be there no later than sundown on the twenty-sixth of March. Can you do that for me?” He leaned forward slightly, flexing his wings of his true form so that he had the man completely surrounded. 

Noah had never seen such pure whiteness in his life. He felt his fingernails digging into his palms, trying to remain calm. “B...Bethel?” Why did that name sound familiar? 

“Yes. I need... something opened. I can't do it... only three people in the entire world can do it...” He shifted his gaze from intimidating to compassionate. “And the other two are children... they can't get there in time...” He knew he struck the right cord mentioning children. 

“I... I can do that....” Noah would have dearly have loved to stand at that point. “I... can be in Bethel....”

Lucifer moved again so he was crouched in front of Noah, setting a hand on the man's face. “Thank you, Noah Daniel.” He drew back. “In return for this...” He studied the man's face, smiling. “I'll tell you who your birth parents are... I'll even find your sister's too...” He could see the sheer wonder on the man's face at the very idea of it. “And anything else you might want... and I mean _anything_.” 

“I... I should come alone, yes?”

“Yes, Noah.” Lucifer drew back. “I will see you in March.” With that, he vanished.

Once alone, Noah sat there for another five full minutes before regaining the strength to stand and gather his things. As he headed back to his office, still in a state of shock, he was trying to figure out why Bethel should sound so familiar... and it wasn't the similarity of the name to Bethlehem. He resolved to put the task he'd just accepted into the back of his mind... at least until around spring break... six weeks from now. 

**

Grace hadn't mentioned it, but this past week had been nothing short of horrible. Ever since Sunday night, she and Uncle Bobby had probably exchanged no more than twenty words, none of them over two syllables. Okay, so she'd gotten angry – but she was a kid – she was under the belief that God knew what he was doing and she should just accept that. It wasn't like she was an expert in theology or anything... just like everyone else around here, she was doing the best she could. Unfortunately, she was in a camp of one and everyone else was out to try and prevent what was happening. But she hadn't appreciated being treated like she was stupid. Perhaps because she was so new to all this she still had the luxury of looking at it from an outsider's point of view. Yes, it sucked and yes things were getting bad. _That's why they call it the end of the world._ Her worry wasn't that things were so bad now, but they were going to get worse. Fire, frogs and locusts weren't exactly raining down from the sky yet. She prayed it wouldn't get that far. 

With her homework already done, there wasn't much for her to do except surf the Internet or watch television. Uncle Bobby wouldn't let her clean guns or make rock-salt rounds unsupervised, it was to cold to go outside and he also didn't want her messing with his books, stating he had them a 'certain' way – never mind that a week ago, he'd let her read just about anything she wanted as long as she put them back where she found them. Neither prospect appealed to her, she'd only been idly looking through the book on Bobby's desk as it was out. She frowned and went into the kitchen. Bobby had been sick for two days and had been rather waspish the whole time. She didn't blame him – Grace figured the only reason he stayed in bed today was the fact that she was there. She looked into the cupboard and grimaced. She'd been living off leftovers and peanut butter for the past few days while Bobby had been subsisting on ramen noodles and toast. She took a mental inventory and then checked the freezer. Maybe a decent meal might improve both her mood and Bobby's. _How hard could a casserole possibly be?_

*

Bobby hated to be sick – he was glad it was just congestion and a slight fever, rather than a full on raging flu. He knew where he'd gotten it, of course. The guy who came by on Monday and purchased a few items had been hacked several times. He figured Heather would probably come down with the same bug due to exposure to him before the weekend. It wasn't normal for a cold to knock him down so hard, but he'd deal with it... he always had. He was considering another dose of medicine when there was a timid knock on his door. “Yeah, kid?”

Heather poked her head inside the room. “I was just checking to see if you needed anything.”

“If I need something, I will let you know.” He coughed, grimacing. 

“I was just kind of worried, cause you haven't eaten anything....I mean, for a while anyway...” She bit her bottom lip, frowning.

“Not hungry.” He rubbed his face. “Did the phone ring this morning?”

“Yeah. Sam and Dean are on their way back... they said they should be back by tomorrow.”

“Bout time those idjits came back here.” He coughed again. “What time is it anyway?” 

“It's just a little after five....” She bit her lip again. “Uh... you want some dinner?”

Bobby groaned inwardly at the thought of _more_ canned soup or ramen noodles – but he gave the girl credit for at least being understanding with him today. He was far from a good patient. “Sure kid.” The sooner he ate, the sooner she'd leave him alone. This past week hadn't been all to easy for him or her. If he didn't know better, he would have thought John Winchester arranged for the girl to get a double dose of the infamous Winchester Stubbornness just so she could come here and drive him insane. Though he knew what was really going on. The angel was pissed at the whole seemingly unstoppable situation, at the apparent apathy of his father and was downright furious at Heather's mother for some reason – and with no one else to lash out at, Castiel had dumped his rage on the girl. Bobby wasn't to surprised at the incident... he was angry too, and sure, he'd lashed out at Heather also – and then started feeling guilty yesterday. She was a kid who'd had the sort of upbringing most people would kill for. But she'd stood up to the two of them probably a little better than most would. It'd been on his mind for most of today to try and sort things out, but the fever and the congestion kept his mind occupied. Of course, if Cas had mentioned why he was so pissed at Melpomene, that would help too. He covered a sneeze with a Kleenex as the door opened again and Heather came in with a tray. He was glad he had started to tell her to put a tablespoon of chili-powder in with the beef ramen.. it really made a difference. When he looked down, however, he was surprised. “What the hell is this?”

“It's casserole.” Heather's voice was barely edged in indignation. 

“I can see that it is... where did you get it?” 

“I mugged the grandmother next door.” She snickered at the look on his face in reply. “Where do you think it came from? I made it.”

“You...” He gave her a skeptical look. “Where'd you learn how to do that?”

“That's actually the first one I've made...” She bit her bottom lip. “So uh...”

Bobby knew he had an apprehensive look on his face as he took a small bite of the concoction. To his surprise, it wasn't half bad – and that _wasn't_ because he'd not had anything substantial in three days. “Where'd you get the recipe, kid?”

“Internet... it's Sloppy Joe meets Mac 'n Cheese, or something like that.” She headed back towards the door. “You want anything else?”

“No, I'm good...” He was surprised that she'd actually put a bottle of beer on the tray as well. “What's with this?” He indicated the bottle. “I didn't ask for this...”

“I know, but I think all that orange juice is making you more surly than usual.”

Bobby threw back his head and laughed, punctuated by several coughs after each one. “You could have a point.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks, kid.”

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.” Heather went out of the room and he heard her go back to the kitchen. 

Bobby took another, larger, bite of the casserole. He decided it was worth giving her permission to start looking at the books again. None of this Apocalypse mess was her fault... just like him, she'd gotten dragged into it without asking. He'd only been more prepared than her to that end. 

*

It was around eight when Bobby decided to get out of bed. Heather had come back for the tray earlier and well, the old hunter was a little sick of staying in his room for the entire day. He was never a fan of confinement and the wheelchair was bad enough. He also learned that he was a lot more congested than he previously thought – because when he got to the library, it was apparent what Heather had been doing with her day. The library was untouched, but the kitchen was spotless and smelled of a mix of spices, chocolate and lemon cleaner. He wheeled himself to the threshold and studied the girl's back as she calmly washed dishes, knowing she can't hear him –she's wearing headphones. He shook his head and went back to his desk, leaving her to her cleaning. From the looks of things, she'd made several casseroles – and the rest were probably in the freezer. He frowned at that – his freezer wasn't _that_ big. “Heather?” He turned.

She pulled the phones down and turned. “Yes?”

“How many casseroles did you make today?”

“Just three – including the one we had for dinner.”

“Three...” He knew she wasn't dumb enough to put a burning hot casserole dish into the freezer. “Mind telling me how you got two other ones baked, cooled and put away without me noticing?”

She grinned at him. “Well, it's only five below outside... I covered them both with foil, set them on that table on the porch... just took an hour each.”

“Good job, kiddo.” He turned and headed for his desk while Heather pulled her headphones back on and went back to scrubbing a pan. The calm of the evening was abruptly shattered, however, when Castiel appeared – well, more like fell – in the middle of the kitchen. 

The angel groaned and rolled over onto his back, wincing in pain. He knew that at least here, in this house, he was mostly safe. He wasn't sure of just how badly he was injured until he saw Heather's face appear above him and heard the soft squeak of Bobby's wheelchair near his ear. 

“What the hell has he been fighting?” That was the old hunter's voice – it was hard to stay awake. 

“If I had to guess, I'd say a dragon...or maybe a demon that's not possessing someone?”

“A demon in true form?”

“Yeah....” 

That was the last thing Castiel remembered before darkness washed over him.

**

Dean was on his fourth driving shift – he and Sam had elected not to stop for the night but to keep alternating every two hours so they could make the nearly twenty one hour drive back to Sioux Falls in one straight trip, rather than dividing it up. Thankfully, there was no snow or ice falling as they traveled along I-80. It was two in the morning and they were nearly there. He'd called back at the end of his last shift – at eleven – Heather had answered and said she'd stay up to let them into the house. Seeing the sign that it was twenty miles to Sioux Falls was a huge relief. They hadn't been back to Bobby's in nearly a month – a record for them these days. The sleep he'd gotten in the car was horrible – not that it was ever decent, but this had been exceptionally bad sleep. He blamed it on the information about that plane wreck thirty some odd years ago and stress. The damned thing was probably irrelevant, but that sort of horror - planes weren't supposed to crash while still on the ground, for fuck's sake – just kept coming back to him. He glanced over at Sam who was snoring away, oblivious. His brother often gave him a hard time about his absolute fear of flying – but he never could quite find the words to explain what it was about planes that scared the crap out of him. Monsters, demons, werewolves, shape-shifters – hell, even angels he could deal with. Planes, however, were a problem. Planes crashed. They crashed a lot. Shaking his head as he pulled the Impala off the familiar exit to the small rural highway that ran a few miles away from the salvage yard was the same as always – freshly salted and sanded, from the looks of it. He slowed the car down, wary of black ice.

There was something rather comforting when he finally drove the car into the yard and saw the light burning in the library and the curl of smoke from the chimney. “Sam.” He nudged his brother. “We're there.”

Sam groaned softly and opened his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Late.” Dean rubbed his face as he turned the car off and pocketed the keys. “Come on, few more minutes and we can get some decent sleep.”

“Yeah...” Sam shrugged into his coat and when he opened the door, he winced at the cold. “See why they called school off...” He said, groggily. 

“No kidding.” Dean made sure the doors were locked before going to the trunk to retrieve their duffel bags. “I don't know if I want to sleep or eat first.”

Sam yawned. “Sleep.” He tossed his bag over his shoulder as the two of them made their way across the sparse yard to the door by the kitchen. “Looks like it's been snowing here almost constantly.”

“Well, it's not like they've had much need to shovel the drive...” Dean said as they went up the small porch and he knocked on the door. A minute later, they heard the lock click back and door creaked open. A very tired looking red-headed girl stuck her head out and looked at them.

Heather narrowed her eyes. “Whatever you're selling, we've already got ten of them in the basement.”  
“Funny, Gracie.” Dean replied as she stepped aside to let them in. “Bobby sleeping?”

“Yeah. He's been out cold since about ten thirty...” She locked the door behind them. “There's leftover casserole in the fridge if you want to eat something before you go to bed.” She yawned. “And before you ask, no, I don't know what happened to Cas, nor does Bobby.”

“Cas?” Dean frowned. “He's here?”

Sam stepped into the doorway and looked into the library at the unconscious angel. “Holy...” He turned. “What...”

“I was washing dishes, Uncle Bobby was going to go do some research or somethin'” She yawned again. “And Cas sort of fell... right in the middle of the room.” Rubbing her face and following the two brothers as they went into the library to look down at their wounded friend. “We patched him up... put him to bed there...and he's been quiet all that time.” 

Cas was, in Dean's opinion, a very pathetic sight. His face was bruised and there was a bandage wrapped around the arm free from the covers. Just over the edge of the blankets, he could make out more bruises and bandages. “Shit.” It was scary seeing the former fierce angel slumbering like the dead. “I take it he looked a lot worse when he arrived.”

“Yeah.” Heather rubbed her face. “He actually looked a ton better after we got him out of his coat and stuff... and after we got the blood cleaned off... vast improvement.” 

“Damn.” Sam said, looking Cas over. “Wait... you helped Bobby patch him up?”

“No, the invisible turtles did it.” She rubbed her face again. “The only injury he had below his waist was this pretty wicked looking cut on his leg...” Her shoulders slumped. “Could we possibly put off the game of twenty questions until...” She looked at her hand and waggled her fingers for a moment. “Six, maybe seven hours of sleep?”

“Sure... go ahead.” Dean said, rubbing his eyes. “G'nite Gracie.”

“Night Dean, night Sam.” Heather replied and made her way up the stairs. “Oh..” She paused halfway up. “If Cas wakes up and asks about his coat, tell him I cleaned out the pockets...it's no longer in wearable condition, it was in about ten pieces.” 

“What was in the pockets?” Sam asked. “I mean, besides a cell phone?”

“Some newspaper clippings... one is in Japanese, another in Spanish... and the third one is in some Scandinavian language... I spent the last two hours on the Internet, figured out it's in Finnish... something about a woman named Astrid Peltola... vanished earlier this week...” She went the rest of the way upstairs and disappeared into her room.

Dean set his bag down next to the couch. “I'll stay down here, in case Cas wakes up or something.”  
“You sure?” He moved towards the stairs. 

“Yeah, Sam.” Dean went over to the hall closet and got out a spare pillow and blanket that was kept there. 

“Okay. Night.” He went upstairs.

“Night, Sammy.” He set the items on the couch and then sat down to remove his boots. After brushing his teeth and turning off the few lights that were still on and settled down on the couch. He fell asleep almost as soon as he shut his eyes.


	18. These Hard Times

Dean had gotten to the point where all his sleep was exactly the same: heavy and short. So consequently, he wasn't to surprised when he woke up four hours later. He figured he might have slept longer if it hadn't been for Bobby wheeling himself into the kitchen to make coffee. He yawned, rubbed his face and sat up. He looked over at Cas, who had shifted in his sleep and was now facing the window. “Cas, you awake?” He didn't expect a reply as he stood up and walked over to the angel. Just as Dean thought, he was still sleeping. He heard Bobby hack once and then Dean heard the sound of water running. He went towards the kitchen and leaned against the door-frame. “Morning, Bobby.”  
The old hunter grunted in reply. “What time you boys get in last night?”

“Shortly after two.” He went the rest of the way into the kitchen and got down two mugs. “We didn't wake you up, did we?”

“No, the Ny-Quill had me pretty much out of it almost all last night.” He finished with the coffee pot and sat back a little to let it brew. “Heather tell you about Cas?”

“Yeah, yeah she did.” He shook his head. “So no idea at all what happened?”

“Given the wounds, I'd say it was either a dragon, a demon in true form or a wendigo.” He shook his head. “Wasn't a pretty sight, that was for damn sure.”

“I bet.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Heather mentioned something about newspaper clippings in his coat pockets.”

“Yeah.” Bobby replied, pouring himself a mug of coffee, sniffling. “She was working on the third one when I had to either get back in bed or fall asleep sitting up. She find anything?”

“She said the third one was from Finland.” Dean filled his own mug. “Weird...”

“What?”

“Just trying to think what Cas was doing with the scraps in the first place.” He rubbed his nose and went into the other room. As he passed the bed, he saw the angel roll over and he stopped. “Cas?”

Castiel groaned and winced as pain shot up his leg as he stretched it out. His last memory was of looking up at the devil's trap painted on the library ceiling – and then nothing. He paused for a moment, assessing everything. One leg and one arm were bound in bandages – as was his ribcage. Nothing seemed injured at the moment – sleep and what grace he had did most of the work in the night. He started to sit up when he felt hands on his shoulders helping him. “Dean?”

“Yeah, it's me Cas.” He gave the angel a concerned look. “What happened?”

The angel blinked once or twice at his bandages, very confused. “Demon” He replied. “Several of them.”

“Tell me they came off worse in the fight.” He said as the angel started to unravel the bandage on his arm. “Wait, don't do that...” He stopped him. 

“Why?” He was confused as Dean started binding his arm up again. “I assure you Dean, I am fine.”

“Just give it a day, Cas... two weeks ago you were concerned about what was left of your grace, there's no need to go wasting on it on this... it will heal.”

“Since when are you so concerned?” The angel frowned.

“Since Sam and I got handed an apocalyptic deadline.” He dug a shirt out of his bag and handed it to the angel. “I don't know if yours is still in one piece or not.”

Castiel shrugged into the unfamiliar flannel material, taking his time buttoning it. “You were given a date?”

Dean blinked in surprise. “Wait, you know about it too?”

“Know about what?” Bobby said, wheeling himself into the room.

“All I know is that something is supposed to happen on March twenty-seventh.” Dean answered. “What, I don't know.”

“Lucifer is going to attempt to raise Persephone.” Castiel flexed his hand once, studying the motion. “I am uncertain how he plans to do it.”

Dean took a sip from his coffee mug, thinking. “Cas, you know of a man named Noah Levin?”

Castiel's head tilted to the side. “Where did you learn of him?”

“So you do know him?”

“Yes.” He blinked. “Noah is...” He took a breath. “Unlike archangels, angels of my rank can possess anyone who is a member of the bloodline without...difficulties. Noah Levin was... I was told he was not an option when it came to selecting my vessel.”

“But he could have been.” Bobby said.

Castiel nodded. “He is... Jimmy's first cousin. Although he does not know this.”

“Why does Lucifer want to raise Persephone anyway?” Dean frowned. “Doesn't make much sense.”

“I am not entirely certain as to why he wants her back.” the angel took a breath. “I was under the impression she was merely _lost_ until a few weeks ago.”

“Lost?” 

“Yes, Dean. It was believed that she merely vanished without a trace... no one was certain of what happened to her.” His brow furrowed. “How did you learn of Noah?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Sam and I were looking into this case.... he was the only person on this plane who didn't get sick... last we checked this flu or whatever it was, killed a grand total of fifteen of the passengers.”

Bobby let out a low whistle. “How'd he manage that?”

“He's a half-blood.” Castiel picked up the glass of water that was sitting on the coffee table and took a long sip from it. “Clio is his mother.”

“Which means he can see angels.” Dean cursed. “Damn it...”

“What?” Bobby interjected.

“That's why Lucifer was in town... odds are, whatever it is he needs the good professor to do, he's already agreed to.”

“How did you learn he was in the capitol?” 

“Another one of those damn pagan gods.” Dean shook his head. “I tell you Bobby... I...” He took another swig of coffee. “I still can't get why these pagans even care.”

Castiel took another sip of water. “I believe they enjoy living....” He looked up. “Odd...”

“What?” Bobby asked.

“Polyhymnia told me that Persephone was missing but Melpomene stated she was dead...” He paled, ever-so slightly. “Gabriel knew that Melpomene was present when Michael locked Lucifer away... logic states that one of the beings present is the one who killed Persephone.”

“And they would be?” Dean asked as a door opened upstairs and Sam came down to join them.

“Lucifer is of course, eliminated – if he was, as the Muse stated... having a relationship with Persephone, he wouldn't have done so...” He took another sip of water. “You must understand I was still... very young when the Fall happened – scarcely older than a fledgling.” 

“You think Michael did it?” Bobby took another sip of coffee.

“No...” Castiel frowned. “The others who were present... Hephaestus was injured by someone's blade, crippling him permanently and Hades was killed. Though which angel did which, I am not certain.” 

Sam came into the room with his own mug of coffee. “What's going on?” 

Dean filled him fairly quickly while the angel took another drink of water, thinking. The conversation between the two brothers was abruptly ended when Cas spoke again.

“Melpomene is the one who killed Persephone.” 

“What?” Said all three hunters at once.

“She is the only one of the two remaining figures who were present who could have done it. As Hephaestus was injured – that leaves only her and Erato. Melpomene is the only one of the Muses who carries a weapon. Which brings the other question... _why_ did she kill her sister?”

“I think that muse has an issue with infidelity.” Dean smirked. “She mentioned in passing back in December that Hera actually tolerates her better than most because she's got issues with her dad, guessing that means Zeus, being unfaithful to his wife.”

“No.” Castiel said, shaking his head. “Most of that pantheon does not strike for such a small infraction. If they did, Zeus would have been dead by Hera's hand long before the beginning of the Common Era.”

Sam snorted. “Here's another question, what were the five of them doing in Hell to begin with?”

“The Forge.” 

“The what?” Bobby frowned at Castiel's answer.

“The Forge. Specifically, Hephaestus's Forge... they weren't supposed to be there, but at the time Hell was empty.”

“Empty?” Dean asked incredulously. 

“Yes. At one time, there was nothing in Hell but room upon room of blackness.”

That was a pretty incredible concept – considering how vast Hell had seemed to Dean. He shuddered and took another sip of coffee. “What's so special about the Forge?”

“The god created twenty swords in Hell before it was Hell. The location of seventeen of the blades is unknown.”

“What's so special about these swords?” Sam asked, leaning against Bobby's desk.

“They're indestructible. They can also kill demons.”

“Like the demon-killing knife?” Bobby took a long sip of coffee.

“Yes, but to a greater degree than the knife...” Castiel finished his glass of water. “Unlike the knife, the swords can also kill any manner of supernatural being – _except_ angels.”

“When you mean any being that means _anything_?” Dean blinked in surprise. “Like, including shtriga?”

Castiel nodded and the older Winchester let out a low whistle in response. 

“I've never heard of these swords...” Bobby said, wheeling himself towards his desk. “You said seventeen of them are missing?”

“Not missing. They were hidden from angels and demons alike.” Castiel frowned. “It is possible that their creator carries one of the blades.”

“So where are the three known ones?” Sam asked, taking another swig from his mug.

“Michael carries one, Lucifer another and the third is carried by Melpomene herself.”

“It'd have been nice to have one of those around War when we ran into him last summer.” Dean muttered under his breath. “So Lucifer is raising Persephone why? To get his girlfriend back?” He shook his head.

“According to the Muse, Persephone is not where Lucifer believes her to be, but in the Oblivion.”

Dean looked down into his empty mug and frowned. “Be right back.” He stood and went into the kitchen, taking Cas's empty water glass with him as well. 

“So how does Noah Levin fit into this?” Bobby said starting to flip through a book.

“Noah can open the door into Elysium. But only on a certain day in a certain location.” He took the glass from Dean when he came back, downing half of the cold water in one gulp. “That would be March twenty-seventh... in Bethel, New York.”

“What's the difference between Elysium and Heaven?” Sam said, moving towards the computer desk.

“Elysium has no angels... I am not certain of how things are there... it is, what you would call a fairy tale among angels.”

The conversation was halted as Sam's mug fell from his hand and shattered. 

“Sammy?” Dean stood up, instantly worried at the horrified look on his brother's face. “Sam what is it?”

Sam stared down at the scrap of newspaper, unable to read the language of the words – but that wasn't what had shocked him. It was the photograph that accompanied the article. “I don't believe it...” He felt himself take several sharp breaths and then felt a hand on his arm.

“Sammy?” Dean's voice was full of concern as he peered down at the paper as well. “Holy shit...” He'd only met her once, but he remembered her face quite well... and if shocked him, he couldn't imagine what Sam was thinking. The missing woman from Finland, Astrid Peltola, looked almost exactly like tragically dead Jessica Moore. 

***

Heather's alarm clock read nine-thirty when she finally woke up. Grumbling softly to herself as she sat up and rubbed her eyes, the prospect of actually having to do something outside of this room today was troublesome. She actually didn't mind being up here alone – she preferred it to anything, actually. As she got out of bed and got dressed, she recalled how her mom used to worry that she didn't socialize enough with others when she was little. In an effort to bring some of that into her life, she'd been put through the gauntlet of extracurricular activities, both she and her parents trying to find _something_ she could enjoy. Dance, gymnastics, soccer and several other sports – they all were tried and given up on. All she wanted to do was keep her nose in a book, draw, and swim. Her mom once stated that it was a pity that none of the branches Indianapolis Public Library System had a youth book club, because that would have been _perfect_. She shrugged into her University of Kentucky hoodie last, hoping to keep her socialization down to a minimum – there was a woman who was going to be cleaning out a barn about a quarter of a mile from Uncle Bobby's house today and had said since Heather already had gotten a look around at the contents (Bobby never really noticed the time she got back from school) and gotten permission from the lady to scavenge a few items for her school project. Actually getting out of the house, however, was probably going to be easier said than done.

Both Dean and Castiel were down in the library when she came downstairs, although the angel seemed to be busy writing something while Dean was flipping through a book. Shrugging, she went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of juice and a bowl of cereal. She was sitting down at the table when she heard Dean finally speak from the next room.

“Mornin' sunshine.”

“I'm not your son and my name's not shine.” She shot back at him, munching on a large mouthful of cereal.

Dean came back to the kitchen to get another mug of coffee. “I forgot, you're grumpy first thing in the morning.” He said with a half laugh. 

She kept her focus on her bowl as he pulled back a chair and sat down. “I do something wrong?” 

“Nope.” He took a swig from his coffee mug. “How was school this week?”

“Fine.” She stabbed at her food. “You don't have to sit in here with me.” She said quietly. “I'm sure you and Castiel are in the middle of something.”

“No, it's okay. Should take a break anyway...” He frowned. “You feeling all right?”

“I don't feel sick, if that's what you're asking.” She shrugged. “Where's everyone else?”

“Sam and Bobby went into town, needed to do some grocery shopping.” His eyes narrowed slightly. Something told him that there _was_ something wrong – but getting what it was would be next to impossible.

“Oh.” She went back to her cereal. 

“Kentucky huh?” Dean looked over his mug, reading the word on her sweatshirt. “I know how the rivalry works for the Jayhawks... sort of... now who is it that the uh...”

“Wildcats. UK is home to the Wildcats... the real Wildcats. But K-State can use the name as long as they kick both Tiger and Jayhawk ass. But all three teams are perfectly capable of redemption if they whoop up on Louisville.”

Dean half snorted into this coffee mug. “Oh, so the kidlet _can_ curse.” He shook his head. “You don't strike me as the type of person who gives a crap about sports.”

“Neither do you.” She finished the rest of her cereal and went to rinse her bowl out. 

“Point.” He shook his head. “How did you sleep?”

“Okay, I guess... oh, and before I forget, I was instructed by my gym teacher to tell an authority figure I need to be told not to throw a dodge-ball so hard. I have a letter upstairs if you want to read it... but apparently hurling a ball at boy's head who's several inches taller than you is unacceptable. I mean, it's not like his _back_ was turned towards me or anything.”

“You beaned someone with a dodge-ball?” Dean was trying to repress his laughter.

“He pegged someone on my team first, it was payback.”

Dean gave her an amused smirk and took another sip from his coffee mug as Heather came back to the table. “Play nice with the other kids, young lady.” 

She snickered as she slid back into her chair. “Yes, sir.” Her smile abruptly vanished as Castiel came into the room. Heather turned her focus on her glass, not looking up.

The change in mood wasn't lost on Dean. “What is it Cas?” 

“I've finished translating the newspaper articles.” He set the sheets down on the table. “Though if Jo is indeed one of the five missing women, we still only have four accounted for. Gabriel stated that there were five.”

Dean looked the papers over. “So including Jo, the four we know about all disappeared one right after the other – exactly a week apart.”

“Yes.” He shook his head. “Though if, as Sam said, the woman from Helsinki bears a resemblance to Jessica Moore – and it was apparent that Jo Harvelle harbors some sort of feeling towards your brother I can not entirely define...”

“I think you call it platonic.” Heather muttered into her glass, glancing upward to see the glare the angel was giving her. “Sorry... forgot you don't want to hear my opinion.” She took her glass and headed into the next room.

Dean shook his head. “Sam and Jo? Not happening.. ever. However, I'm guessing Lucifer doesn't know that. Or he took her to guarantee we'd go looking.”

“That is possible.” He frowned. “I am not even certain the three women I've located were the ones taken.”

“So are we just supposed to let this Noah guy open the door into... wherever.”

“Lucifer will not kill the nine women required for the sacrifice until he has Persephone's spirit. Or so I would assume.”

“Is it possible to bring someone back from the Oblivion?” Dean went and refilled his mug again.

“Yes. Although it is not within the power of an archangel. The only one who can raise someone from that place is God or Death himself.” He glanced into the other room. “Heather, I do not suppose you can tell me where my coat is.”

“Sure I can.” She replied, coming to the doorway. “It's in about ten pieces in the trash can.”

Dean looked from one to the other. “When did you two start hating each other?”

“I'd say it was when Cas gave up on God and I got sick of his superior attitude last Sunday.” Heather took a swig from her glass.

“I do not know how it happening, Dean, but despite the lack of time the two of you spend together, she is somehow turning into you.”

“She was probably always sarcastic, Cas.” Dean shook his head. The angel had already told him he'd stopped looking for God. “Besides, she's thirteen – she's _supposed_ to be difficult.”

“Age is not a valid excuse, Dean.” 

“Actually, it is.” Dean shook his head. “Anyway, if she was a quiet, obedient and submissive thing, I'd think she had some kind of weird supernatural disease.”

“It is not possible for her to contract any such illness.” Castiel looked from one to the other. “Her genetic structure is immune to it.”

“So she's immune to the Croatoan Virus?”

“What's that?” This was news to Heather. Just what _else_ was she immune to?

“It's a nasty illness that turns you into a demon zombie.” Dean took a long sip from his mug. “By the way, you said there's a kid in your class who can see angels too?”

“Yeah.” She came over to the table, sitting across from Castiel. “Well, Nate hasn't said as much, but still...”

“Nathan Turabian is the youngest child of the Muse Urania and a man named Jason Irvine.” Castiel said flatly. “Jason Irvine was killed in New York City on September eleventh.”

Dean frowned. “So Aaron and Jason were both killed in plane related accidents...that does it, I'm never getting on a plane again.”

“You have only been on a plane twice, Dean.”

“Yeah, and I freaked out both times!”

Heather leaned against the door frame. “I think it's a perfectly acceptable fear... I mean, I'm an above average swimmer, but I'm still terrified of drowning.” 

“That would most likely be because your older half brother Timothy died on the USS Arizona at Pearl Harbor.” Castiel said gruffly.

“Dean, has Cas been drinking something? He's way out of himself... I mean, even from his normal behavior.”

“I have not imbibed any alcohol, Heather. I have only had a large glass of soda. I was told it would settle my stomach.”

Dean frowned. “But you've never had soda before....” He bit his thumbnail. “Which doesn't make any sense, because Gabriel's a sugar junkie...”

“Maybe Gabriel knows how to hold his Pepsi.” Heather replied as she went to the sink to rinse out her glass. 

“Go away.” Castiel glared at her. 

“Cas...” Dean raised his voice slightly.

“Fine.” Heather turned around and left the kitchen, grabbing a spoon and a jar of peanut butter as she did.

“That was uncalled for, Cas.” Dean said as soon as Heather was out of earshot.

“Her behavior is not going to help us. It is best if she stays out of the way.”

“I don't believe this.” Dean had been angry with Castiel before, but he was actually starting to get down right _pissed_. He'd not seen the angel act this way since before the Apocalypse – and then it had been directed towards Sam. “I'm fairly sure she knows how serious this situation is and this is her way of dealing with all that's getting thrown at her. Most girls her age are having tantrums over not getting the latest pair of jeans and picking fights with their parents. She's making the best out of a bad situation... not to mention she's been cooped up here with no one but Bobby and occasionally you for company. Odds are, school's somewhat of an escape, but she's _trying_ Cas.”

“And why are you trying so hard to be her father when you know she will always see Stephen Kittredge will always be the one she thinks of when she hears that word?”

“I don't care if she does that. I'd be greatly worried if she didn't.” Dean finished off his coffee. “Besides, she might have had a point with the soda... you weren't this pissy until after you drank some of it.” He stood and got the angel a cup of coffee. “See if this calms you down some...” He shook his head. He didn't want to let on that Cas's words about acting like a father had affected him. It was pretty obvious to him that he _had_ to act that way towards Heather. “So if you know who Noah is... and you know who Nate is...how did you not know about Heather?”

“That... is something I have yet to figure out.” The angel took a large swallow of coffee and grimaced. “Erato mentioned as much when I spoke to her. Someone or several someones went to a great deal of trouble to hide her from both Heaven and Hell.”

“We'll worry about that later.” Dean stood up and went back into the other room. “Let's just see if we can find out who this fifth missing woman is.”

**

Finding woman number five was looking to be nothing short of impossible. It was shocking the sheer number of people who went missing on an average day – at how many _weren't_ mentioned on the news – and that was just in the US. Dean didn't want to think about how bad it would be when they expanded their search to other countries. He and Sam had spent most of Saturday and Sunday scouring the Internet – while Bobby did his best to kill the cold he had. It transpired that carbonated soda did, in fact, make Castiel drunk. Or something close to it, as he had what could only be described as a mild hangover Saturday night. His wounds were fully healed by Sunday morning and he left to do research on the process of opening the portal that Lucifer seemed determined to have Noah open – though Dean had no idea where the angel was going or who he'd go talk to for that sort of thing. What worried him was what Lucifer would do when he found out Persephone wasn't where he thought she was. Then there was the small problem that he and Sam had been informed of a case in a mental hospital in Oklahoma – the tip coming from a former hunter who was currently residing there. Something was killing the patients and it definitely wasn't normal. 

The whole idea of walking into one of _those_ places was about on par with going back to jail in Dean's opinion. He yawned as he came down the stairs early Monday morning – he and Sam were going to spend the day building up a back story and leave for the hospital tomorrow at the earliest. As he came into the kitchen, he was surprised to see that the coffee was already made. “Did I oversleep?” 

“No.” Heather replied from the table, where she was double checking her bag. “At least, not if you were planning on getting up before six-thirty.”

He shook his head as he got a cup of coffee. “You're up early.”

“Not really, the walk takes a little longer in the cold.” She zipped her bag shut. 

Dean blinked a few times. “What time does the bus come?”

“Quarter after seven.” She rubbed her eyes. “Every time I think how much it sucks to have to walk a half a mile in the cold, I try and remind myself that pioneer kids had to do the same thing – at much greater a distance and there wasn't a building with central heating waiting for them at the end of the road.”

“How do you manage to stay so damn optimistic?”

“I'm not running on optimism, I'm running on hope.” She depressed the button on the toaster and got the peanut butter out of the cupboard.

Dean shrugged and took a sip from his mug. “What time does school let out again?”

“Three-fifteen.” She replied, getting a jar of strawberry jam out of the fridge.

“Tell you what, I'll try to remember that and pick you up at the end of the day.”

“You don't have to do that, I know you and Sam have a lot to do before you leave tomorrow.”

“Well, I don't know how long Sam and I will be gone... and it was nearly a month this last time...” Dean let out a long breath as the bread in the toaster popped up. “'Sides....” He bit at his thumb, trying to think of how to go on.

“You know Dean, I appreciate what you're trying to do... really.” Heather busied herself with making a sandwich with her toast. “But it's not... you don't have to... you know...”

“Heather, that argument will not work with me and the only reason I'm saying that is I used to use the same one and I actually got away with it.” Dean shook his head. “Not to mention the fact that I don't want the only quality time you and I spend together to be when you have target practice.”

“You don't have to pick me up from school if you're going to be busy... the bus is just as good. Although the Impala is way, way cooler than the bus.”

“You got that right, Gracie.” He replied as she started wrapping her sandwich in a napkin. “What is that, breakfast on the run?”

“It's first breakfast.” She grinned as she put the napkin down and started to pull on her coat and other wraps which she'd left on one of the kitchen chairs. “I get second breakfast at school.... though it's nowhere _near_ as good as second breakfast in Berlin.”

“Germany?”

“Yeah. Second breakfast is an actual meal there.” She grinned. “They don't serve you liquid eggs and call them real there.” 

Dean chuckled and took a sip from his mug. “You be careful.” 

“I will.” She hoisted her bag on to her shoulder after digging her I-Pod out of the front pocket. “Monday....” She flipped through the play-lists, frowning. “Monday requires something with....”

“Monday is Metallica Day.”

“I don't have any Metallica... unless you count the work of Alex Gibson and his lullaby renditions of their music.”

Dean nearly choked on his coffee. “What?”

“That's one of the new things... there's this company that takes artists like Metallica, the Beatles, Green Day and stuff and turn their greatest hits into lullaby versions... 'Course, I'm still waiting for the Cowboy Mouth version... or for a second Green Day one, so they can put 'Twenty One Guns' on it...” She shrugged and put the headphones on. “I'll see you later.”

“Have a good day at school.... if that's possible.”

“I'll try.” She gave him a small grin and after retrieving her sandwich, headed out the kitchen door into the cold South Dakota dawn. 

****

As Jo predicted, exactly one week in the real after the arrival of Astrid at the rooms and what felt like two days in their prison – a sixth woman arrived. Although the newest arrival barely qualified for that description. Alice Draper was all of nineteen – and, like Olivia, she was a college student. Like Jo, she'd vanished from the States, in her case, walking across the Georgetown campus after a night at the library. Jo also knew that this made her the second one among them to be openly snatched, with Olivia being the first. What made Alice different was the fact that she'd seen Lucifer beforehand. She could only imagine the media frenzy that was currently happening to find the missing co-ed – and how, like the other five, Alice had more or less vanished off the face of the earth.

****

Sam tossed the white pajamas he'd been wearing for several days into the trash as he came out of the shower. The week in the mental hospital pursuing a wraith had proved exhausting for both him and Dean. Of course, he'd spent the last day in restraints and been waiting to either be dinner or delivered to Lucifer with a bow around his neck. Possibly both. He was still processing what Dean had told him about burying his anger, but Sam was so angry at everything that it was hard to even begin the process to bury said anger. The whole impossibility of the situation he and his brother in was one of the key factors of the rage, but there were other things too - things he couldn't believe that made him angry. Sam was not stupid. He knew perfectly well that Cas preferred Dean to him. But that's easy to explain, _Cas is the one who got Dean out of Hell...._ He also knew that Heather preferred Dean as well. Sam put that one up to Biology. But he really didn't need to be that pissed over those two bits of information... 

“Dude, you going to stand in the doorway all night?” Dean said from his spot on one of the two beds. 

“Huh?” Sam looked up. “No...” He went over to sit on the other bed and pulled on a pair of socks. “You talk to Bobby?”

“Yeah. Just as we suspected, another woman went missing this past Thursday... I think the devil did more than visit the good professor when he was in DC.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The latest victim was a student at Georgetown.” He shook his head. “He also had Heather do a little digging, and while she didn't find any other missing reports of young women... she did uncover a quadruple homicide in Kyoto, Japan back at the end of December.”

“Quadruple homicide?” Sam lowered his feet to the floor. “As in....” 

“Four girls... all fourteen – exact same profiles as Heather and her friends back in Jasper. Autopsy revealed they'd all had yellow curry and dumplings as their last meal.” Dean went over to his laptop and loaded up the news story Heather had linked him to, frowning.

“Famine.” Sam let out a long breath. “I don't suppose we have any leads on that Horseman?”

“Scattered reports... although I have a feeling he's probably making rounds in Haiti – what with the recent earthquakes there...”

“Makes sense.” Sam shrugged. “Anything else?”

“Heather said she only found this article for her current events class...” He turned his laptop towards Sam. “Now what do you make of that?”

Sam came over. “A drug lord in Columbia and his entire staff and workers all die in a mass drug orgy?”

“Yeah... two weeks ago... some of the runners came looking for their next shipment and instead found their boss's dogs feasting on what was left of their employers.”

“Ew.” Was about the only thing Sam could think of in reply. “Sounds like something you'd read in World Weekly, not Fox News....”

“Tell me about it.” Dean said. “What worries me is that tomorrow is Thursday... another girl is probably going to disappear.”

“Possibly...” Sam double checked the calender on his own laptop. “There's six more Thursdays between now and the twenty-seventh of March... and if Cas is right, Lucifer only needs three more.” He shifted in his seat. “I think I'm still feeling the Thorazine they gave me back there. I don't remember half the shit that happened in that place...I mean, we ate two hours ago and I'm already hungry again.”

“Be glad... that place was just....” Dean shook his head. “There's still pizza left, it's in the mini-fridge.”

“Thanks.” Sam stood and went across the room. “Bobby and Heather have anything else to say?”

“Yeah....Heather and two of her classmates spent three days last week in detention.”

“Heather? Detention? Why?” Sam punched a few buttons on the microwave.

“Apparently, she and the other two students involved had a bit of a problem with two other students deciding to flush a Bible down a toilet as a part of creative expressionism.”

Sam stared at his brother. “And those two?”

Dean snorted disgustedly. “Oh, _they_ weren't punished... they were sent to the guidance counselor because they were traumatized over the violation of their first amendment rights or some other such bullshit.”

“If anything, I'd say that Heather and the others were stopping destruction of school property.” He winced as the microwave beeped. “Maybe Cas will stop giving Heather such a hard time now.”

“I thought it was pretty funny... Bobby said he was called by the school and told to deliver an 'additional punishment' as requested by the other student's parents...” He cracked a grin. “So he gave Heather a lecture on the proper way to punch someone in the stomach.”

Sam returned to the table. “Somehow, Heather and fighting is hard to picture.”

“She's kind of like you in that respect, Sammy... on the surface... you both look relatively harmless.. until something pisses you off.”

“Thanks.” He took a large bite of pizza. 

“Just saying...” Dean turned back to his laptop. “So I was looking around for a new case... and I think I found one in Redding, Nebraska.”

“What is it?” Sam said around a mouthful.

“A couple apparently ate themselves to death.” He shook his head. “If we leave tomorrow before five, we should be in Redding in the late afternoon.”

“Sounds good.” Sam said, going back to his food, glad that as far as side effects to the anti-psychotic drugs went, this wasn't bad at all. Increased appetite – he could deal with that – and it probably wouldn't last all that long anyway. 

****

As an archangel, there was very little that Gabriel couldn't do – now, Loki... Loki couldn't have walked through the gates of Olympus and announced his presence – that was tantamount with declaring war. Pagans, for all their murdering, back-stabbing, confusing as all get-out lives, had a few unwritten rules that were expected to be followed. One of which was not going into another's sanctuary without invitation. Such invitations were almost never issued... yet here he was, in the ruins of what was once the city of Troy, waiting for his – escort – for lack of a better word. Gabriel was doing his best to remain passive and properly patient – but getting an invitation from Mnemosyne - Arael- had been as unexpected as it was wonderful. He knew full well that if anyone was behind the current hair-brained apocalypse scenario he was currently on board with, it was his sister. Of course, he had a feeling Michael had a hand in it too... but his elder brother was still on the bench, waiting for his vessel to wake up and get with the program. 

“Loki?” A quiet voice said from behind him and he turned.

“Morpheus.” He inclined his head slightly towards the much younger man who appeared to be between eighteen and twenty. When Gabriel has last seen him, the Greek god of Dreams had black hair and black eyes – and always had. But now, now he looked.... different. He was fair haired and his eyes were a clear blue. He titled his head to the side, slightly confused. Ever since he'd had his eyes 'opened' as it were by Arael, strange things had occurred in the way he viewed the Greek Pantheon. The young man reminded him of another member of his family, but Gabriel couldn't quite place them. “You're early.”

“I believe in punctuality.” He stepped forward out of the shadows. “Thea Syne says she's very sorry that one of her girls couldn't come to pick you up instead, but the Muses are trying to appear as neutral as possible at this point.”

“I can imagine.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I don't suppose you know what this is about?”

The shorter pagan walked over to him, smiling. When he was a few inches away, he let the smile become more pronounced. “I make it my business to mind my own business, _Gabriel_.” A fraction of a second later, they appeared in the warm, comfortable gathering room in Mnemosyne's home on Mount Olympus. Morpheus walked quietly away from the surprised angel, knocking once on one of the few doors around the room. “Thea Syne...”

Mnemosyne opened the door and smiled. “That was quick.” She looked from Gabriel to the boy and back before speaking again. “Sulley, where is your mother?”

“Munich.... she's helping out with their twenty-eighteen Olympic bid...” He shuffled his feet. 

“Munich...” The goddess frowned and looked down at the bracelet on her wrist, pausing to tap one figure with a green stone. “Did Annie go to Germany too?”

“No, she's in London helping a team of engineers. But she's really, _really_ wanting to take a trip there... I mean, Emil's what, eighty something?”

“Eighty-six, to be exact... Sulley, be a dear and go make sure our young guest hasn't gotten lost in that utter chaos my daughter Clio calls a bedroom. She could find something dangerous in there...”

“Yes ma'am.” Morpheus replied and left the room. 

“Nice kid.” Gabriel shook his head. “I don't suppose you would like tell me how he found out about...”

“Figured it out on his own, clever little stinker... shortly after I told him to stop poking around in the heads of the members of the Norse Pantheon. Given the only other time I suggested that to him was when I expressly told him to never go poking around in prophet's heads... he sort of put two and two together.” She moved over to the table. “You want something to drink?”

“You called me here, Arael... what is this about?”

She let out a soft sigh and glanced at the grandfather clock across the room. “In exactly two hours, I'm expected at a meeting in the main forum. This meeting is going to be attended by every single member of the pantheon still alive... not counting half-blood children currently living on earth... This is the second meeting of this type we've had in the past month...” She sat down heavily in one of the arm chairs. “All the other pantheons are having meetings like this... I'm surprised you've not gotten an invite to yours....” 

Gabriel snorted and sat down in one of the other chairs. “Balder doesn't really tolerate me...”

“Well, you did kill him...” She shook her head. “That's beside the point... and he's one of the ringleaders of this little nightmare in the making.”

“What is it?”

“Balder and Kali are forming a plan to capture the Winchester brothers and then use them as bargaining chips to get Michael and Lucifer to go back to their corners and forget this whole end of the world thing.”

Gabriel stared at her. “That.... are they insane?” He stood up and started to pace. 

“That's what this meeting is about... I've been trying to convince the others that this plan will only end in all our deaths... and there are very few who are listening to me. I'm talking eleven of us in a group of fifty...” 

“Those ten being?”

“Myself, five of my girls, Ares, Artemis, Morpheus, Hera and Hestia.”

“Shit.” The angel swore. “Don't tell me they actually think the angels will listen?”

“I think they've all forgotten that front row seat we had to the ten plagues...” She muttered. “Times like this makes me wish that forked tongued bastard Poseidon was still around... he's know better than to mess with angels since the parting of the Red Sea.”

Gabriel was still pacing. “Do you know anything else of what's being planned?”

“If we come to an agreement today – then a representative of this pantheon will sent to the meeting that Balder and Kali are planning.” She rubbed her forehead. “I also know that the Winchester brothers are about to run straight into Famine.”

“The Norse haven't exactly been democratic about anything... and since Balder, as you say, is one of the initiators of the idea, that's probably why I wasn't told.” He sat back down. “Famine, huh?” He smirked. “Looks like I better find Pestilence. I don't suppose you've come up with a brilliant idea on how to get those two chuckle-heads to say yes, have you?”

“That is actually the hardest part of Plan D... Morpheus is working on locating the missing girls.” She let out a long breath. 

“The boys are hidden from angels and demons... but not the pagans...” Gabriel dug a chocolate bar out of his pocket and opened it. “I honestly didn't think Kali would do something this foolish.”

“Well, she currently is at the top of the pagan standings... she also wants to be the one who destroys the world.” She rubbed her temples, frowning. “Even if I could convince the rest of this family at how bad an idea this all is, I've got no chance of making sense to the others.”

“They're just _asking_ to get killed...” He took a large bite of chocolate. “Lucifer hates all the pagans and Michael...” He made a face. “I've never exactly got his opinion on them.”

“I think with him it's with whether or not the god in question eats long-pig.” She slowly stood up and began to pace, her arms folded. “This is just not going to be pretty, no matter what way it goes...”

“We can't stop it...” Gabriel finished his chocolate. “And talking sense to them will do no good...” He stuffed the wrapper into a pocket and stood up. “It will take at least a month to get something like that organized...possibly longer.”

“The Olympics start tonight in Vancouver. It's an established law in this pantheon that we cannot go to war during that time. Well, we can plan and prepare all we want... we just can't go chucking arrows and whatnot at anyone... _unless_ we're attacked first.”

“Or if one of our brothers gets possession of his vessel – that sort of defeats the purpose.”

“The pantheons won't see that... they don't get that you can't just _stop_ the apocalypse.” She went over to the mantle and rested her hand against it. “A lot of decent people are going to get killed in this...”

Gabriel snorted. “I'll try and keep tabs on what I can.... but if the brothers are about to run into Famine...”

“I know, it makes things seem a lot more imminent.”

**

The anteroom was simply furnished – a table, two chairs and a rug. Mnemosyne sat placidly in one of the chairs, watching Hermes pace back and forth, the short distance and excitement of the afternoon showing clearly in his gait. The meeting had gone just as the goddess predicted – an overwhelming majority of the pantheon favored asking the angels to stop the apocalypse. Now – save for the two of them, were still in debate and voting over their representative. The two of them had been selected as candidates for two reasons – one, they could both keep their egos mostly in check – and secondly, although Mnemosyne wasn't sure if the younger god was aware of it, they were easily considered canon fodder by more than half the pantheon. A grave mistake in relation to her and a decent assumption in the case of the fast-footed messenger. “You're going to walk a hole in that carpet.”

“I'll steal a new one.” He gave her a small grin. “I'm surprised you accepted your nomination.”

“I might not be able to convince fifty members of our family of how bad an idea this is... but I might have better luck with just fifteen.” She brushed a speck of lint off her skirt. 

“You still believe it to be a bad idea then?” The god tilted his head at her. “If we don't do something, we'll all die.”

“Hermes...”

“It's _Mercury_.” He smirked. “Just because you didn't get a name change when the Romans picked us up...”

“That is beside the point. The point is that this is a very, very bad idea... you do remember what happened to the Egyptians when they started throwing rocks at the proverbial hornet's nest, don't you?”

He smirked and paused, looking rather pleased. “But that was then... and we're not talking about enslaving humans.”

“Fighting demons is one thing... fighting angels is _entirely_ different.” She shifted in her chair. “I can only think of about five people in this family who have a snowball's chance in Hell against an angel... but against an _archangel_ – not one of us has a prayer.” 

“You've always been paranoid.” He laughed and started pacing again, looking pleased. “Besides, maybe....” He stopped speaking as the door was opened and Artemis looked in at them. 

“We're ready now.” She left the door open and walked to her seat, the two of them following. Mnemosyne went stoically to her chair, flanked on both sides by her daughters – seated by their birth order. Hermes took his own seat between Apollo and Ares, looking rather expectant. The goddess saw the narrow glance that god of war gave his brother, as if he'd like to crush him. 

Zeus stood up, looking them over the group at large and smiled. Mnemosyne _hated_ that smile. “The vote was very close.” He slowly started to walk around the small area at the center of the room, his eyes occasionally meeting one of the others sitting around him. “As soon as Calliope and her sisters return from Vancouver at the end of this month, we shall begin to prepare for this war in earnest. When the pantheons meet in March, our representative, winner by two votes – will travel to meet with the others.” He came around the room and clamped Mercury on the shoulder. “Do us proud, son.” 

The room erupted into applause – both triumphant and some merely polite. 

Sitting two rows behind the Mnemosyne, Morpheus sat, biting his thumbnail. He watched as Melpomene put an arm around her mother's shoulder and whispered something to her, concern etched on her face. He saw the two of them cut a look to him and all it took was a slight jerk of the head from the elder to tell him to go. He slid past the crowds of his cousins, aunts and uncles all mingling in the room, conversations he didn't care to take part in. When he hit the open courtyard, he walked faster and then vanished from Mount Olympus entirely. 

He had work to do.


	19. All Those Days Are Gone

Nate hitched up the collar of his coat as he got off his four wheeler next to one of the open out buildings in the salvage yard. The wind was fortunately, blowing against the closed wall of the shop, so it wouldn't be too bad. Why he and Heather couldn't work on their project inside the house – like normal people – he had no idea. After taking off his helmet and putting it in the wooden box affixed to the back of the vehicle, he picked up his backpack and started across the short area. He could see that some of the snow was shining silver and the faint reek of spray paint was in the air. A local station was playing on a radio that had probably been new ten years before Nate was born and the drone of a space heater told him why he could see Heather working without a coat. “Hey.”

Heather looked up. “Hi, Nate.” 

He came up to the work table and looked down at a silvery object that was about the size of a pizza box. “What is that?” 

“It's the Tato Platform... or will be, once I finish it.” She shrugged. “It used to be a Barbie Dream pool or some other thing like that... I was never a big fan of Barbie.”

“That's... where did you find it anyway?” He set down his bag on an empty spot of the table.

“A barn that was getting torn down.. that's where I got a lot of the other stuff too...” She indicated a box full of various pieces of wood and other odds and ends. “Got some of the paint there as well.”

Nate came around so he was standing next to her. “Don't tell me you found the action figures you needed ...”

“Actually, yeah I did... all four of them.” She nodded at four small items he hadn't noticed. “Nice.” She nodded towards his bag. “What are you working on?”

“Right...” He unzipped the backpack and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I got the outside of the box painted already...well, a base coat anyway...” He set the sketch down to show her. “I was thinking... we've got all these old shoe boxes at home... and I was planning on making a few buildings... well, at least just a few that extend over the top of the larger box...”

“That might work... it never really said how high the platform was... I always pictured it to be at least fifty stories...” She rubbed the side of her nose. “I just hope Mrs. Fasci doesn't change the assignment and make the box size standard.”

“She's never done that...” He grinned. “Anyway, during the weekend of spring break Patrick Henry has their big art and science fair... they put the big projects and stuff, I guess you can say like ours, in the the gym and the people with smaller projects and inventions – because that's what the eighth graders are making, are all in the cafeteria.”

“My old school used to have one of those... it was in March too... well, my old old school, not the last one I attended.” Heather leaned against the work bench while Nate picked up one of the action figures and examined it. 

“How many schools have you been in?” He turned the figure over, frowning. 

“Three, including Patrick Henry.” She sighed and opened one of the two thermoses on the bench. “You want some hot chocolate?”

“No thanks.” He put the figure down and turned back to his plans. “Three schools? Here I was feeling bad because my parents took me out of Holy Spirit and put me into Patrick Henry...”

“Why?” 

“My mom and dad can't afford the local Catholic High school.” He leaned over his plans. “Well, they could..” He nudged a rock with his foot. “It's complicated.”

“They have scholarships for those things. I remember because at... when I was at St. John's – since we also went to the church there, there was a fund for kids whose parents couldn't afford it...”

“There are kids who need that more than I do.” Nate replied. “Anyway... it's not important...”

“I will admit... the food program isn't half bad... but the food coloring in the mashed potatoes is unforgivable.” Heather sighed and shook her head. 

“That's why I brown bag it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “So... St. John's.... where is that? Rapid City?”

“No, St. John's the Apostle... it's a church and school in Indianapolis... it constantly gets confused with the other St. John's in the city... which is St. John the Baptist... the Episcopalian High School.” She picked up a can of spray paint and the platform and went into the open area to give it a second coat. 

“I think I changed my mind about the hot chocolate...” Nate was still cold from the ride over. 

“Help yourself.” She replied as she shook the can and uncapped it. 

Nate merely watched her as he found the spare cup he figured she'd brought out for him and filled it halfway. “So you moved here from Indianapolis?”

Heather came back over setting the platform down. “No, I moved here from a small town called Jasper.” She set the can of paint down. “That was in... late November.”

“Where are your mom and dad?” Nate winced as soon as he'd spoken. “Sorry, you don't have to answer that...”

“No...” Heather held onto the work bench for support. “No, it's okay... I mean...” She swallowed hard, blinking back tears.

“Oh shit...I mean, shoot...” He started digging in his coat pocket for a tissue. 

“I've got one...” She pulled a Kleenex from her pocket and blew her nose. 

Nate looked down into his mug. “The fire?” 

“Yeah.” She let out a sniffle. “The fire.” She took a deep breath. “I... I don't really want to...”

“I shouldn't have asked.” Nate kicked at a rock. “I mean...I sometimes worry about my other... I mean, I worry about my parents... but every now and then... I think about my birth family... and I wonder how they are.”

Heather managed to conceal the fact that she already knew Nate was adopted rather well. “I... I used to wonder about mine.”

He jerked his head up. “You're adopted too?”

“Uh huh.” She came over and poured herself some hot chocolate as well. “Speaking as someone who's found out where they came from... believe me when I say ignorance is bliss.”

Nate took a swallow of the hot chocolate, nodding slightly. “I'll try and keep that in mind.” He glanced at the house, just visible over what used to be a conversion van. “So is Mr. Singer really your uncle?”

“Family friend.” Heather took another drink from her own mug. “I'd...I''d really appreciate it if you won't go telling people about this.”

“I won't.” Nate kicked at another rock. “Say... can I ask you something else?”

“What?” She put her mug down.

“That Impala I saw you getting into a week ago... whose car is that?”

“It belongs to Dean.” 

“Dean... and he's...”

“Biological father.” She shook her head. “It is a nice car.”

“It's more than nice. That car is bloody awesome...”

“Oh, I see you've poked around in the quagmire that is the _Harry Potter_ fandom.”

Nate chuckled. “Hey, what can I say, Emma Watson's hot.”

“She's also like, seven years older than you are.”

He grinned. “So?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Boys...”

“Hey, I just call it like I see it...” He pursed his lips, studying her. “Let me guess... you prefer Tom Felton over Daniel Radcliffe.”

“Skandar, actually.”

“Who?” He took a sip of hot chocolate.

“You know. Skandar Keynes?” She grinned. “As is in, 'It's _king_ , actually' Edmund..”

“Oh that guy...” Nate broke in. “And he's _how_ much older than you?”

“Five years.”

“Like that's all that different from seven....” 

“It is when the one on the far side of seven is in college.” She rolled her eyes. “Then again, we're just bloody Yanks to them and we've got a better chance of making it hot tomorrow than we do meeting them.”

“We can dream...” He set his mug down. “Let's try and get something done...”

****

Melpomene leaned against the railing of the walking bridge, watching the cross-country skiers passing by in the distance, sighing. The cold Canadian morning was quiet, most of the people in this small town outside of Vancouver were in church at this time – so the current Olympic event that was going on went relatively unnoticed. She rubbed her shoulders as she heard footsteps approaching her. “Hello, Morpheus.”

“Good morning.” the younger god came over and set down a tall paper cup on the railing. “Black with an extra shot of espresso and a double dash of cinnamon.”

She took the cup and smiled. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He leaned against the rail, looking in the opposite direction she was. “This meeting of the gods is a very bad idea.”

“I know that. Anyone with more than a tablespoon of common sense knows that.... which only confirms to me that my sister Athena, is in fact, a total dumb-ass.”

Morpheus snorted. “How did she get to be one of the favored daughters anyway?”

“A lot of ass kissing.” She took a long swallow of coffee. “I wouldn't want to be in that little clique anyway. I don't know how Missy stands it. Then again, she has her own friends so she manages to always be busy in her own right.”

“True enough.” He took a drink from his own cup.

“I know this can't be why you came all the way out here, Morpheus.”

“That.... that stuff the horsemen can do... It's too strong for me to block... at least, completely...” He let out a shuddering breath. “I don't know why I'm not...”

“At least you recognize it.” She sighed. “And I know what you're hungry for too.”

“You don't mind, do you?” He gave her a very apologetic look. “I mean...I know you're working and...”

“Hey...” She turned and put an arm around his shoulders, giving him a one armed hug and then kissed his forehead. The god closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. “It's okay, pethimou.... I could use the company.... the only other one still in town currently is Perry... she thought she snagged all the indoor sports... but there's a hockey game later...”

“Who's playing?”

“I think it's Germany versus Russia.. you know, thirty years ago, that could be one hell of a match up. Probably still is... but it's not the US or Canada... it's a shame Greece doesn't have a hockey team.”

“Yeah...” He smiled awkwardly. “It won't.... it won't transfer to other people, will it?”

“No, it won't... well, it could so it's probably best if you didn't go on your usual rounds.”

“Uh huh.” He sighed. “I just... I think I've got enough wards up in Sam Winchester's subconscious that Lucifer can't find him... at least, not for a few nights... maybe as much as a week.” He took another swallow of coffee.

“It's all good, Sulley.” She gave the young man a smile. “You, hungry for attention? I never would have guessed that....” She drank from her own cup.

“I just wish...” He stared to sniffle. “I just wish I could... you know.”

“Well, it's not your fault your father's an asshole.”

He snorted. “What is it Yiaya says? Sometimes great joy comes from great suffering?”

“She would know.... that's how she ended up with me and my sisters.” She stood up straighter and brushed an errant lock of hair from Morpheus's face. “And how I ended up with you.”

“But you had to lie about where I came from...”

“Do you really want to be like Apollo?”

“No.” They started away from the bridge, heading down the salted path towards the end of the cross country path. “Because I know he'd just manipulate me and my abilities if he knew.” He reached out with his free hand and clasped the cuff of Melpomene's coat sleeve, holding on tightly as if he couldn't bear to break any form of contact with her, and it was, for the most part, true. It was almost comical in a way – he was a full foot taller than her. Most people would wonder why a six foot three man was grasping a woman's coat like a little boy who didn't want to get separated from his mom. He for one, didn't care. There mere contact was enough to control the slowly building hunger in his gut. “I wouldn't want to be like him. I don't _ever_ want to be like him.”

“Well, few thousand years and you've not shown much more than an inkling... although your current penchant for killing the Edward Cullens all those teenage girls are dreaming of...”

“Hey, Edward Cullen is a douche.” He said, grinning.

“True...” she took a drink of coffee. “You want to have some lunch?”

“Okay.” He kicked at a rock on the path. “Guess it's sort of a good thing we made a tradition of spending at least one day during the Olympics together....”

“Yeah.” She gave him a warm smile. “So in keeping with that... you still want to be an angel?”

“'Course...” He returned the smile. This was the same conversation they always had – about what they would do if they could change what they were, what they would do if they were human.. somehow, all their conversations came back to this. Morpheus sometimes thought it was silly – but thanks to a small encounter with Famine via blocking keeping Lucifer _out_ of Sam Winchester's head, it was exactly what he needed. “You still want to be a reaper?”

“Absolutely.... travel the world... wouldn't need to eat... all you have to worry about is some ass-hat trying to bind you to them or Death's Scythe...” 

“Wouldn't you miss peanut butter?”

“Well, if I never knew how good it was, how could I miss it?” They headed out of the park and into the town. “That's the only problem with this place...I won't be finding any peanut butter around here...at least in a decent form.”

“There's poutine.” He grinned.

“For breakfast?” 

“Hey, potatoes, cheese and gravy... that's three of the five food groups...”

“True... and if you have hot chocolate and a side of bacon... you're all set.”

***

Heather was halfway through her school-day when she realized that she should have never left the house. Working out in the cold on Saturday plus the exposure to whatever nasty bug Uncle Bobby had last week had hit her full force when she got up this morning. Rather than listen to common sense, she'd taken a good dose of daytime cold medicine and drug herself to the bus stop. If the old hunter had actually been at home today, she probably would have gone to see the school nurse and begged him to let her come home early. Not that she thinks she'd have much of a problem with that – but another hunter whose name she didn't quite recall at the moment had arrived early last night in order to take Uncle Bobby to some sort of specialist all the way in Kansas City today. The true kicker was that it was going to be an overnight stay – and while Heather found it unnerving, apparently neither of them saw nothing wrong with leaving a thirteen year old girl alone for one night. So going home early had been out of the question. Supporting herself with her hand against the frame of her locker, she slowly pulled books out and put them into her bag. There was no way in hell she was coming to school tomorrow.

“Hey, Kittredge....” 

She turned slowly at the voice and a moment later, Luke Andros, Nate's friend, was leaning against the locker next to hers. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you could explain....” He stopped. “You look like crap.”

“I know I do.... twelve hour cold relief my foot...” She rubbed her head. “What did you need?”

He looked slightly contrite. “Don't worry about it... I'll ask someone else in our history class, you were just the first one I ran into...” He straightened up. “I'll go now...”

“Luke, we ride the same bus.” She pulled her coat on and slammed her locker shut.

“True...” He watched as she shouldered her bag. “I just don't get what the teacher was asking... I mean, do we look at the historical event from our point of view, or are we supposed to look at it as if we were really someone of that era...”

“From our own perspective...” She covered her mouth and coughed. “Three pages, if I remember correctly.”

“This is suckage.”

“No, it's Honors History.” She let out a weak chuckle as they got onto the bus and she plunked herself down in the first empty seat she came to. Luke continued onward towards the back where some of his friends were. Heather leaned against the window, watching the other students streaming past her. When she got back to uncle Bobby's, she'd check the salt lines, the locks – and then she was going to go to bed. She wasn't hungry, she wasn't thirsty.... what she was was a sick thirteen year old girl who wanted her mom. 

*

Dean sat down on his bed and flipped open his phone. He scrolled through the numbers and hit number four on his contacts. With the way this case was looking, he and Sam could possibly be here in Redding a few more days. It rang three times before it was answered.

“Hello?” A very congested voice said – it was actually hard to hear anything over the shouting.

“Heather? You okay?” Dean frowned.

“I've got a cold... Uncle Bobby wasn't lying when he said it was a vicious one.”

“Where the hell are you? It sounds like you're in the middle of a circus.”

Heather watched a lunch bag fly past her in the other row. “You're close, I'm on the bus. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing is wrong... but with the way things are at the moment, Sam and I might not be back in Sioux Falls until later this week.”

“It's okay.” She coughed. “I'm just going to get back to the house and go to sleep.”

“I'll call you in the morning to see how you're doing...” Dean replied as he heard the door of the motel room open behind him. “You take care of yourself.”

“I'll try.” She said as the bus pulled on the highway towards the outer part of town “You and Sam be careful.”

Dean tried not to laugh. “You know us.”

“That's exact... exact....” She sneezed. “Exactly what I am talking about.”

“You get back to Uncle Bobby's and get some rest... got it?”

“I got it. Say hi to Sam for me.” She said and hung up, sticking the phone back in her bag.

Dean hung up on his end and turned towards his brother, he frowned at the brief case he was holding. “What is that, Sam?”

“I don't know... a demon I was chasing dropped it.” Sam set the case on a table and went to change out of his suit. 

“Demon, huh?” Dean eyed the case warily. “What the hell is going on in this town?”

“I have no idea...” Sam rubbed his eyes after pulling on a flannel shirt. “Who were you talking to, Bobby?”

“No, Heather... sounds like she's got the same bug Bobby had last week.” He stood up. “So what do you suppose is in this thing?”

“Not sure, it's not all that heavy...” Sam came over to the table and they both looked down at the case. His head had been pounding for the better part of the day, making him wonder if he'd also caught the bug – but that seemed impossible. His main problem in facing the demon had been that horrid, unquenchable hunger he thought he'd gotten over – the thirst for demon blood. Something told him that the sooner he and Dean got to the bottom of what the hell was going on in this town, the sooner he could bury the hunger again.

*

Heather had learned to measure the trip from the end of the road to Bobby's house in terms of landmarks. The first bridge was a small overpass that went over a creek called Small Muddy – if there was a Big Muddy, she didn't know where it was – it reminded her of the three Horseshoe Creeks on Interstate 64 – the Big, the Little and the plain Horseshoe – clearly, South Dakota didn't have any more creativity in the naming of such things than Illinois did. The creek was one fourth of the way to the Salvage Yard. The next landmark was a weather-beaten billboard advertising some restaurant she doubted was still in operation in the town of Yankton – a good forty-five minutes away – she was a third of the way back by then. The halfway point was the semi-tall overpass that went over the Union Pacific Tracks. Two thirds was a cottonwood tree – and the last landmark was a strand of barbed wire fence that marked the start of Bobby's property. Normally the walk took her just under fifteen minutes – she'd parsed her time down considerably since she started making it – but today, feeling like crap, the walk was taking twice as long as usual. 

She rubbed at her nose as she saw the start of the train bridge come into view over the crest of the hill. Heather's mind was more on the thought of being in a warm house shortly than anything else. Just as she was about to make the journey across she heard it – the rumble of that stupid kid in his car racing towards her. The road was wide enough – the jerk could slow down in time – there wasn't any ice to worry about. She grasped the collar of her coat closed and kept walking. 

What happened next was something she never saw clearly, even afterwards – the car came up on the bridge, swerving into the other lane, belching smoke and the rumble of the engine and the blasting of music that sounded more like someone screaming than anything else. Whether the kid misjudged the distance or wasn't paying attention – she'd never know – but the car whipped back into the left lane to early, the rear bumper making contact with Heather's knee. She screamed in pain and staggered to the side – the _wrong_ side – towards the railing on the side of the bridge. For the briefest of moments Heather thought she was flying – only to have that notion crushed and taken away as she made contact with the ground next to the tracks – twenty feet down from the road above her. 

“Ow...” She whimpered in pain, holding her breath – waiting for the screech of tires she was _certain_ was coming. The kid couldn't be _that_ much of an asshole, could he? Heather swallowed hard, her eyes focused at her bag – the strap of which had somehow come wedged between the bridge and the metal sign proclaiming the road above to be Route Thirty-Three. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there – a minute... maybe five... still the kid didn't appear above her, calling down. _Where is he?_ Heather couldn't feel her legs – given the angle she was lying at she knew she'd done something to her back. Ten minutes ago, she'd been looking forward to getting home and going to sleep. Now here she was, feeling like a broken doll. She was thankful she'd not landed on the tracks themselves – but she was aware of something smooth resting underneath her left wrist. 

Heather took a shuddering breath. “He...help...” _Oh God, don't tell me that kid just left me here... maybe he doesn't have a cell and he's driving like hell to get home and call the paramedics... something..._ The pressure in her chest and the odd feeling on her chest made it hard to breathe – all she wanted to do was close her eyes and just sleep. _If a train comes, you're going to lose that hand..._ By now she was certain it'd been ten minutes and there was no far off siren, no voice calling to her... no one was coming. Bobby was in Kansas City – he wouldn't know where she was until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest. Dean, Sam and probably Castiel were all who knew where... they thought she was safe at home by now. She felt the tears starting to well up in her eyes. _I am going to die by this railroad track in the middle of nowhere... I could deal with that if I wasn't alone...okay, alone I could deal... I just wish I wasn't cold..._

*

It was quiet in the Garden – it almost always was. Michael had started coming here shortly after his father vanished – hoping, _praying_ he'd hear his voice. The garden looked different to all humans and angels that walked its length – to the archangel, it would always be that beautiful place that humans called Yosemite Valley, home of the majestic trees that soared to a height naught but mountains could surpass. It'd been in that valley, so many, many, many eons ago – back when he was a fledgling that he, his three brothers and their sister had invited a game that humans called hide-and-go seek. Even today, a small smile played at his lips remembering how Raphael would complain about being 'it' but preformed the task with more vigor than any of them did – and how Arael and Lucifer tended to find the best hiding spots – usually together, like two peas in a pod. Gabriel was almost never it – he was undoubtedly the swiftest of the five. As for himself? He was good at all of it – and tended to volunteer to be the chaser – but he always let Raphael tag him. Now he sat waiting for an answer to a prayer that had been in vain so far. As he sat there, his eyes closed and his hands resting palms up in supplication, his back leaning against a giant Redwood tree, something shifted ever-so slightly in his field of sight. He could see countless people clearly – but so many of then remained unnoticed by him – he'd only scoured his view for certain people. A spark that had gone dark some months ago – something that had only become accessible to him through dreams – suddenly blazed into his vision with all the suddenness of a bolt of lightning. He raised his head, the light still hovering in his mind's eye – he knew this spark, he'd know it anywhere. Eyes still closed, he rose to his feet, letting the feeling come to him as he opens his eyes and looked around. “Joshua!”

“Yes?” the angel who keeps their father's garden is far shorter than Michael. Appearing to the humans who find their way here as a benign dark skinned man in plain clothes, he keeps himself perfectly passive at Michael's outburst.

“I am going to need you to contact Gabriel... I'm afraid the plans have changed once again.” With that, the archangel vanished from Heaven. This was not a tangent he was prepared for as he flew down towards the Earth, his mind fixed on a spot in South Dakota. He'd left the Continuance a simple task – make his true vessel hear him. Although she'd not given the message yet – she'd gotten one damned good letter ready and waiting for Dean Winchester in Robert Singer's house. He was pretty adamant of keeping children out of this if at all possible. Hell, his _brother_ wasn't going to make children fight either... strange how despite it all, children were left on the sidelines – they were last and worse case scenario to both sides as far as the archangel was concerned – even demons didn't possess children all that often. There was one Apocalypse plan that was so _unthinkable_ Michael wouldn't even voice it. As he came to the spot the spark had led him – he didn't need to conceal himself – he was vaguely aware of a street-lamp that shattered on the road above him as he settled in a crouch next to the girl's barely conscious form. 

The Continuance was dying and he had no vessel. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Grace?”

Heather whimpered in response. She cracked her eyes open and saw almost nothing but light. A warm feeling was settling over her – the cold wasn't so bad as it was a minute ago.

Michael knew that what he was about to do was borderline unforgivable. His sister would be livid – his true vessel would be furious... _but they'd be twice as enraged if you let the girl die._ He set a hand against the girl's head, already tallying her injuries. Both legs broken – left shoulder dislocated – at least four of her vertebrae were cracked – even if a human were to find her to rescue her, she'd never walk again. The reason he could finally find her through the sigils placed upon her was from the seven broken ribs – a punctured lung – and the wicked cold she was plagued with to start with wasn't helping matters either. If anything, the illness was helping her die faster. “Grace? Gracie?”

Heather blinked, trying to make sense of all this. “Wh...what...”

“Ssh.... don't talk, I can read your mind easily enough...” 

_Cold, so cold... ow, mommy I want mommydaddydeansamcastielmommybobbysomebody... it hurts... mommydeandaddysamcastielbobbymommysomebody..._

“I know it does, Gracie...”

_Dean calls me Gracie... I want to sleep... I just want to sleep and not have to worry..._

Michael shook his head. “It's not your time yet...” He let out a breath. “I can help you... but...”

You told me how angels get their vessels. I'd have to be insane to say no. Heather didn't know where she got the strength to suddenly have coherent thoughts. The hope of getting away from here – out of here, to stop hurting – that all helped build up her strength. _Do I have to say it out loud?_

“No, you don't.” He closes his eyes – already knowing what's coming.

 _Yes._ Heather closed her eyes again as heat and comfort pour into her with all the force of a flash flood. She wasn’t sure at what point things started to happen – but as most of her body had already gone numb from cold and pain – she merely let go of her conscious self. The archangel tucked into a corner of her own mind, rather like a dream – she wasn't completely unaware – but the feeling was wonderful. In that little piece of her mind, she was tucked into warm quilt fresh from the dryer and settled in a comfortable chair next to a blazing fire. Her last singular coherent thought is that she won't be missed at school until at least Wednesday. 

Michael pulled himself into a sit, the bones of the girl's body healed as he entered it. The injuries, the illness – all of that is gone as he stands up, assessing other damage that needs his attention. The tear in the pants, matted hair, the dirt, all of it he repairs and brushes it off, and then he sees the bag hanging above him. A fraction of a second later, he was standing on the road, looking down at it. The tracks in the road tell him how all of this started and a feeling of fury lances through him. The boy hadn't even stopped... hadn't even thought about it...

_Don't kill him...he might not have seen me in all that smoke his car was belching._

Heather's voice was drowsy from the corner of her own mind and rather than tell her to be silent, Michael responded in a gentle voice – using the same voice he's used to talk with her in dreams. _And why not? He left you to die..._

_Because he's young and stupid... can't you just..._

_Just what?_

_Why can't we just go and put the fear of God in him instead?  
_  
Michael threw back his head and laughed. A light-bulb in another streetlight shattered at the sound. _That... might actually be fun..._ An idea had already sprung into Michael's mind. _But we'll do it after dark... right now, you sleep..._

_Not going to argue there, Michael..._

The archangel smiled as he felt the child go to sleep in her own mind. A moment later he was gone from the bridge. Five minutes later, a train roared by on the tracks, dislodging the bag and leaving it lying on the ground next to a bloodstained scrunchy that had fallen from Heather's hair.

**

Dean decided to mark down the fifteenth of February, two-thousand ten as one of the five worst days of his life. First went, of course, to the day his mom died – second would have to be the day his father died, third the day he went to Hell – fourth being the day Lucifer got out of Hell. This day – the fight with Famine – seeing Sam use his demonic powers after a good five months on the detox wagon and Cas... seeing an _angel_ powerless to overcome the touch of the horseman... Dean had to wonder if he'd set a Winchester record in the time it took him to get everything in the hotel room together, throw it in the trunk of the Impala and gotten the fuck out of Dodge. Redding was a small town on the outskirts of Grand Isle (although Grand Isle wasn't all that bigger) – and looking back, he was very, very thankful that Famine never made it to Lincoln. Sam was lying in the backseat, his breathing already getting slow and labored, the way it always had when he was coming off a demon-blood high. Castiel sat next to Dean in the front seat, staring at his hands, grimacing at the stains of mustard and ketchup under the nails. 

_You're not well fed, Dean Winchester – the reason you can stand in my presence and not give into hunger is because you're empty inside._

Empty.

He took a long breath and glanced in the rear-view mirror at his brother. “We'll be at Bobby's soon, Sammy.”

Sam shuddered, knowing what was waiting for him at the old hunter's house. “I...I'm sorry... I...”

“It's not your fault!” Dean barked, more tired than anything. “You just need to let it get out of your system...”

The younger brother sat up, rubbing his eyes. “If... if that was Famine... I don't want to think what Pestilence is like...”

“Pestilence is not yet risen... or if he has, he is not anywhere near here.” Castiel said, still looking at his hands. He kept telling himself that his moments of weakness was caused by the fact that he was in a human vessel and the hunger was a result of that Jimmy's hunger, not his own. He hasn't heard Jimmy in weeks – he can't blame the man – it's not as if Castiel has been eating anything. He recalled the last thing he ate before his hamburger binge of the past two days – a piece of delicious pineapple upside-down cake in Texas. The angel glanced at Dean, he'd heard Famine's words – but couldn't find the right words to bring comfort to his friend. He knows he can't – he knows Sam can't either... but there was one person who probably could – and once they were all safely back at Bobby Singer's house and Sam was done detoxing from the demon blood... there needed to be one of those things humans called a _family meeting_. They had come this far and they couldn't just stop now...

Dean's watch beeped softly, a tiny indication that the day had changed over – it was Tuesday. He turned the Impala off the highway and onto the road that led to the salvage yard. “Almost there...” He said under his breath as they drove past a billboard. “Looks like the weather's been a little nicer since we left...” 

“Did you call ahead?” Sam said and winced, pinching the bridge of his nose again.

“No... Heather told me that Bobby's down in Kansas City seeing some kind of specialist... and I also know she's sick – odds are, she's in a Ny-Quill induced sleep at the moment. I'll check on her after... after we get you settled.”

 _Settled_ – Sam knew what that meant. He was expecting it and knew he'd shortly be locked up and strapped down in the panic room. While he didn't want to think about how long it would take... he did remember that there was a space heater in the room, so at least he wouldn't freeze. They went over the train bridge and then the salvage yard was in sight. Castiel didn't say anything as they stopped and he got out of the car, unlocked the gate and swung the door open to let the Impala in. As soon as it was clear, he shut the gate and locked it, following the car to the house. 

The house was still and dark when they came inside, Sam had gone in first and gone straight to the bathroom – and after brushing his teeth and changing clothes, he came back out and made his way into the basement. It felt like marching to his death. As he went into the panic room and sat down on the bed, he looked up at his brother, who was leaning against one of the empty cabinets. The feeling of withdrawal was already starting to creep into his brain – that horrid craving that made him hate himself. “I... I think I'll be fine in a few hours...” 

“I wish I didn't have to do this, Sammy.” Dean moved away from the cabinet and went and adjusted the space heater. “I won't be leaving any time soon, either.” He stood up as Sam took off his boots and pulled on an extra pair of socks. 

“Just... make sure Heather doesn't come down here and let me out before...”

“I won't...” He managed a weak grin. “She sounded congested enough on the phone she probably won't do much of anything for a few days...”

“Yeah...” He let out a resolved breath and laid down as Cas came into the panic room and shut his eyes as the angel and his brother bound him to the bed with restraints. It was just like being back in that padded room back in the mental hospital...only the monsters in his own head frightened far more than any real monsters that he'd faced. He was so intent on keeping calm that he almost didn't hear the heavy iron door clang shut and the loud bang of the lock sliding into place. He closed his eyes, pulled at the restraint on his left wrist once and then shifted slightly on the bed so he could scratch his nose. It was going to be a long night.

Dean had gone back upstairs and glanced at Cas, who was sitting placidly at the kitchen table. “You okay?”

“I am fine, Dean.” 

He shook his head in reply and made his way through the library and went up the stairs. Having slept through plenty of severe storms due to night time cold medicine, Dean wasn't to worried that Heather would wake up when Sam started screaming. Then again... she might. He'd just make sure she was okay – see if she needed anything – she probably would feel better just knowing she wasn't alone – and then he'd go back downstairs and... do something. Funnily enough, as he made his way up the stairs he thought of the tomato rice soup his mom used to make him when he was sick. He wondered if Heather would like it too... Sleep didn't seem like an option for him at this point. Dean knocked once on the first bedroom door before opening it, just in case she was already awake. He turned the knob and pushed the door open – noting that it no longer groaned on its hinges. He looked around towards the bed, squinting in the darkness. “Hey Gosalyn, you awake?”

What struck him instantly was the silence. No one with a cold slept silently, medicated or not. “Heather?” He flicked the light on and felt his heart drop all the way to his feet. 

The bed was empty.

“No...” He pulled back from the room and walked quickly down the hall, throwing open the door to the next bedroom – the one with the twin beds that he and Sam used to use when they were little. He flipped on the light here, panic starting to rise. “Heather?” This room was also empty – as was the third bedroom. He slammed the bathroom door open as well – it was as vacant as the bedrooms. He raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time and yanked open the hall closet – Heather's coat was there – but she'd taken to wearing that to-big old coat of Sam's... and then he ran back upstairs to confirm something. He scanned the empty room, searching for her bag. It wasn't there.

Dean's knees gave out from under him and he sank to the floor. This could not be happening – where is she? His mind suddenly slammed back into working form... those deeper ditches he'd warned her about... they were free of water at this time of year, but being just out of site of the road... 

“Dean, what is...” Castiel had come up from downstairs, alarmed at the noise. He took in the empty room and then frowned. “When did you last speak to her?”

“Yesterday afternoon... around three-thirty...” His mind counted the hours back – nearly ten hours ago. _Ten hours... is that long enough for someone to freeze to death?_

The angel pulled Dean to a stand and half carried, half drug him back down the stairs to the couch. The tone of his friend's voice and the expression on his face is one of pure agony. “We will find her.” 

“She... it... no...” Dean had only been this incoherent with shock and fear once before – the time Sam had run away in Flagstaff. This was different – it was _biting_ cold outside... “uh... uh...”

“I will go look for her...” He took a deep breath. “She can not be very far from the road and there are only so many places she could be where she could not be seen.”

“Cas.... hurry....” He staggered to his feet and moved to the fireplace in need of some sort of task to bring him back to rational thought.

“I will not be gone long.” And with a small fluttering sound, he was gone.

*

Castiel had landed just at the start of the road that led to the salvage yard when he caught the barest trace of something in the air – it was long since passed by, but something lingered. He walked quickly in the same direction it went – the familiarity of the power growing more certain. When he came to the train bridge, he was nearly driven to his knees at the fact he'd not recognized it sooner or felt it when they drove by in the Impala. He looked down – all the way down to the tracks below and a moment later, stood next to them. He knew this power all to well – although he'd not been in its presence in years – not since the day before he and the rest of his garrison laid siege to Hell. Lying on the ground next to the tracks was the slightly battered messenger bag that Heather carried to school – next to it was a plaid hair-band he's seen her wear a few times. When he picked up the later, he noted it was stiff and something crumbled from his fingers as he looked it over.

_Blood._

He stood, holding the bag in the other hand and reappeared in Bobby Singer's library.

“Cas?” Dean said from behind him and the sheer agony in the man's voice nearly breaks Castiel. He turned and set the bag and hair-band on the couch – the scrunchie rolled off and landed next to Dean's foot. 

Dean looked from the band, to the bag, to Castiel – his eyes full of pain and fear. He didn't think it was possible to feel this terrified – he's been scared for Sam – he's seen Sam _die_ for fuck's sake... so why did this hurt so much more? “Cas?” He repeated.

The angel swallows, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Michael.” It's at that exact moment that the withdrawal hits Sam hard and he started to scream for help that could not be given – screams of pain that can only be endured and gotten through. As it is, all the angel can do is catch Dean as he fell forward and started to weep. He wanted to tell Dean that surely Heather would be dead if Michael hadn't found her, that it could be so much worse, but those words sounded empty to him even in his head. He knew that the only way that the archangel could have found the girl was if something happened to break the girl's ribs – and if she fell the distance from the road the tracks – then she had been in pain. He went over in his mind how the girl would have even taken it into her mind to even _listen_ to Michael – and the moment he came to that realization than he already knew the answer.

 _Because there was no one else to listen to her – and to actually hear what she was saying_.


	20. Sounds of Silence

Exactly three miles from North Kansas City Hospital, Bobby Singer was sleeping. He didn't even know why he let himself get dragged all the way the hell down here – in the middle of a small blizzard, no less – just to see some quack doctor who would probably tell him the same thing the doctors in Sioux Falls had. There was a way to fix his leg – but the surgery was so new it was risky and he'd be in rehab for six months. _Six months_ – he couldn't be completely out of the fight that long. Not now, not with an actual fucking deadline looming over all their heads. Not to mention the radical diet change that would accompany both pre and post surgery. Tomorrow, he and Nick Cartwright, a hunter who usually stuck to werewolves would head back to Sioux Falls. In the second bed in the motel room, Nick slept on, just as oblivious and dead to the world as his friend. The room was still but not silent – the snores of two men, the thrum of the heater and the traffic from outside all but masked the faint fluttering sound that swept through the room – followed by a small 'pop' as the light above the sink blew. 

Bobby turned over in his sleep, grunted and opened his eyes. He groaned softly before shutting them again. “Told you kid – I don't need nothin' else...” A fraction of a minute later, the fact dawned on him that he wasn't at home – and at the same moment, he felt a slight twinge shot through his bad leg. Bolting upright, he turned to the corner where he could have sworn he saw Heather and found nothing. “Stupid dreams...” He rubbed his face and swung his legs over so he could make his way to the bathroom. He was halfway there when he stopped stock still and realized something: he was walking. Not limping – _walking_. Secondly, there was a faint whiff of ozone in the air – the kind that came with a blown light bulb. Staggering in disbelief, he threw the second bathroom light on and saw the remnants of glass lying in the sink and the one-cup coffee pot was cracked in such a fashion he was certain it would shatter to oblivion if he touched it. “Sunova....” He threw the main light on, causing Nick to curse softly and sit up, rubbing his eyes.

“The motel better be on fire....” 

“Get up, you idjit...” Bobby walked over to the bed, fumbling for his cell. “Somethin's going on...”

“What the...” Nick blinked at the older hunter. “What the hell... are you....”

“Yeah, get the stuff together, we're going back to Sioux Falls.”

“Sure...” Not wanting to think to much about what had happened to cause this event. When he came to the bathroom, he frowned at the coffee pot. “That... is just...” He shut the door and started to run the water.

Bobby flipped through his contacts and hit the first number he had listed for Dean. It only rang once before it was answered.

“Bobby?” Dean's voice sounded oddly hoarse, as if he'd been crying.

“Where are you and your brother at?” Bobby asked, starting to gather up his things.

“We're at your place... Horseman trouble...” The next was cut off by what sounded like Sam screaming. “Sam's... uh... Sam's having a little withdraw trouble...”

“Shit.” Bobby replied. “Heather's not there, is she?”

“No...” Dean let out a gulping sound that told the older hunter the man was trying not to cry again. “How... how did you know that?”

“Cause I just saw her... or whoever's using her meat suit... and now I'm walking.”

_“What?”_

“I know... look, Nick and I are probably going to leave Kansas City here in less than an hour – I'll see you boys before noon.”

“Got it.” Dean said.

“Just don't go off looking for the fool girl without thinking it over first...” Bobby hung up the phone, frowning. “When she gets home, that girl is going to be grounded until she's eighteen...” 

*

Dean hung up his phone, still trying to push down a second overflow of tears. The fact that Sam was screaming for help from downstairs – help he couldn't give his brother – didn't help matters either.

“He just needs to get it out of his system, Dean.” Castiel sat in his usual chair at the kitchen table, his hands resting on his knees.

“This... Bobby's been healed.”

“Odd...” 

“What's odd about it?” Dean asked, incredulously.

“It does not fit with what I think Michael would do once he gained possession of a vessel.”

“He's in a thirteen year old girl, Cas... I don't exactly think he'd go on a demon slaying spree...” Dean blanched at the idea. “At least, I hope he wouldn't...”

“No.” The angel shook his head. “I do not think it was ever his intention to take possession of Heather – but as she was severely injured, there may have been no other way of healing her.”

“I don't like it.” Dean went over to the cupboard and poured himself a tall glass of whiskey. He had just taken his first gulp of the amber liquid when a knock came on the kitchen door. “That can't be good...” He set his glass down and pulled out his glock. 

Castiel rose and walked quietly to the door, tugging back the shade, frowning. “I do not understand this...” He fumbled with the locks and opened it. “What are you doing here, Morpheus?”

The pagan god blinked at Castiel, hunching his shoulders slightly against the cold. “Well, I'm not selling cookies...”

Dean came over to stand next to Castiel, frowning at the man. “ _You're_ Morpheus?”

“Who were you expecting, Samuel L. Jackson?” He folded his arms and managed a lopsided grin. “I heard a scream for help, and since you boys are hidden from demons and angels, I felt rather compelled to see if I could.”

“We do not need help from the likes of you.” Castiel retorted, starting to shut the door, only to be surprised when the god stuck his foot out. “What do you think....”

“If you don't want to accept my help, that's fine. See if I care. But from what I can tell, you and the Winchester brothers are running out of time, _fast._ ”

Dean frowned at the man. “And why should you care?”

“I hear a few months ago you went looking for Loki cause you thought he'd want to help. Now an actual pagan shows up knocking, offering help and you don't want it. I don't think I've seen anyone run around in circles so much as you three since that lost platoon of Hessians during the American Revolution.” Another scream from Sam punctuated the night air. “Answer me this, Dean – do you really want to listen to your brother scream in agony for a few more hours?”

Dean grabbed the door and wrenched it open. “Come inside before I change my mind...” 

Cas reluctantly stepped inside to let the taller man in, still rather surprised at the pagan's appearance. He said nothing as he went back over to the table and sat down while Dean shut the door and looked Morpheus over. He looked different than the last time he'd seen him – or rather, he looked far less perfect and more shaggy in appearance. 

Dean rubbed his face and started for the basement door. “Let's just get this over with... anything you need exactly?”

“This is actually very simple... we just need some holy water and a bucket...” He removed his coat and calmly hung it over one of the vacant chairs. 

“You can't mean you're going to cause him to regurgitate the blood he drank, do you?” Cas said incredulously.

“So he'll be on the BRAT diet for a week, there are worse things.” 

Dean went into the library and pulled one of the jugs of holy water Bobby kept in a cabinet out. “It's not like we have much choice, here Cas...” He opened the door to the basement and motioned for Morpheus to follow him. “Iron doesn't affect you, does it?”

“No.” He ducked under the low doorway and grabbed a bucket off the work bench. 

“Funny, I'd thought you'd want to get paid for helping us.”

“Well, quite frankly, there's nothing you have that I want... except I saw a Studebaker slowly rusting out in the yard... I've been wanting one of those since I saw _The Muppet Movie_.” 

Dean stared at him. “That's it?”

“That's it.” He shrugged as Sam screamed again. “Come on, let's get your brother out of detox and straight into hangover.”

“Yeah.” He frowned as they opened the door, looking in at Sam's straining form. “I think you're going to have to hold him...”

“No problem.” 

Dean took a deep breath and the two of them went into the panic room. “Sam?”

“He doesn't see you as you... he's hallucinating pretty badly.” He set the bucket down on the floor. “He thinks you're some demon... or something.” 

Sam jerked his head towards the unfamiliar voice. “Who... what....”

“Just relax... you're having a nightmare...” Morpheus said in a soothing tone.

“I thought you worked with nightmares.” Dean snapped as he poured a glass of holy water.

“They have to be sleeping.” Morpheus replied.

“How much of this does he have to drink?” He looked down at his bound brother, his heart wrenching. 

“Do you know how much demon blood he drank?”

“A few quarts, at least...” He let out a breath. “How'd you know...”

“Dean, I've been around long enough that I've seen pretty much every single addiction there is... he's not the first demon blood junkie I've come across.”

Sam was vaguely aware of the two figures discussing him. He was coherent enough to know that one was his brother, but the other... the other voice was... sort of familiar. “Wh...what...”

“Come on, up you get...” Morpheus unfastened the bindings on Sam's wrists and ankles and pulled him into a sit, holding onto his arms and keeping one leg over one of his. “Just relax...”

Dean came over the bed. “You gotta have some water Sammy, don't want you getting dehydrated.” He tried not think about the fact that the water will burn as his little brother obligingly opened his mouth and put his lips to the glass.

The sensation of warmish water trickling down his throat was at first calming and welcome, but halfway through the glass, Sam tried to jerk away. “No...” Holy water spilled down his chin and felt the person behind him grip him tighter and grasp his hair, pulling his head back.

“It'll be over in a few seconds, Regulus... few more swallows...” 

Dean tried not to think about what he was doing as he poured the rest of the glass of holy water into his little brother's mouth. “Does he need more?”

“'Nother glassful...” He was straining with effort at holding Sam. “You gotta do this quick, I'm not at full strength, I can't hold him for long...”

“Here....” Castiel appeared in the panic room and took hold of Sam's right side. 

Sam was jerking violently as he felt the glass hit his lips again. “Nnn...”

“Drink up, Sammy... it'll be quick...” Dean could see the pain in his brother's face – this was _agony_ for the both of them. 

Sam wanted to scream, wanted to fight back as coherency started coming back him – his brother was forcing water down his throat and Cas and a total stranger were holding him down. The water suddenly stopped and a wave of nausea swept into where a minute ago, detox agony had been. He fumbled for release and a moment later found himself free and clutching a metal bucket as his stomach emptied itself of its contents. 

Morpheus stood up, rubbing his arm where Sam had dug his nails into it. “Everybody in once piece?”

Sam dry heaved once before puking again. “What the hell, Dean?”

Dean set the glass back down and was staring at his brother. “You feel any better?”

“Hungover is how I feel, what the hell happened?”

“We got help.” He indicated Morpheus, who was now leaning against the wall of the panic room, his arms folded. 

Sam frowned. “I know you from somewhere...” He spat into the bucket again. “Ugh, that's nasty.”

“No kidding.” Dean said. “I won't make you empty it...” 

Castiel turned to Morpheus. “Why did you stop to help us?” Now that Sam was back to mostly normal, a few questions needed answering.

“It's called being considerate, Castiel. It'd be nice if more people did it.” He rubbed his face. 

“Who are you?” Sam was still positive he knew this guy. 

“I'm the one who's been keeping Lucifer from finding you in your dreams again, small fry.” He smirked at all three shocked faces. “'Course, he's not been looking, I'm just doing it as precaution.” He dug into the pocket of his hoodie, pulled out a tootsie-pop and unwrapped it. “But as soon as he gets wind of that, I've got to go into hiding and there goes my usefulness to Team Humanity.” He stuck the orange sucker into his mouth and gave the three of them a self assured smirk.

“Team Humanity?” Castiel frowned. 

“Yup. A team currently comprised of a handful of various supernatural creatures and two humans...” He frowned. “Though I don't know if Samara counts as human considering she's not aged in thirty some-odd years...”

“Who's Samara?” Dean asked.

“No one you need to worry about.” He tapped the sucker against his lips. “Now if you three want to play twenty questions, I will be happy to oblige, within reason.”

Sam fell back over, the effects of detoxing, skipping straight to hangover and all the stress getting to him. “I feel like I've got the flu...” 

“Is that twenty questions each or twenty questions all together?” Dean sat down on one of the chairs, rubbing his face. There was no way he was going to be sleeping tonight.

“Twenty total – nine each for you and your brother and the angel gets two.”

Castiel was taken aback. “What?”

“That's only because I'm currently pissed at you.” He stuck the sucker back into his mouth. 

Sam sat back up and fumbled for the pitcher that had regular water in it. “Dean, where's Heather?” He was fairly certain she would have woken up with all the noise.

“She's been abducted by an archangel....” Dean cursed and rubbed his eyes. “I don't suppose you know how to track one of those, do you?” He shot at Morpheus.

“I do, but I'm not that stupid.” He waggled the candy in his direction. “And in answer to your thought, no, I'm not a sugar junkie like a Trickster. I just have the manners not to smoke in other people's homes.”

Sam took a gulp of water and winced as it went down. “You say you've been keeping Lucifer from finding me in dreams... that mean you've been hanging out in my head?”

“No, more like I show up, lock a door and leave... That requires a visit about every two weeks.” He shrugged. “and no, I don't feed off you either because, you, just like every other kid Azazel infected, taste like spoiled carrots.” 

“That's just fucked up...” Dean muttered. “Wait, what do you mean, you don't feed off him, you feed off humans?”

“I feed on emotions – but unlike a wraith, I don't make you go crazier, I just make it so you wake up feeling better.” 

“That's just great...” Dean shook his head in disgust.

Sam snorted and hacked once. “And tribute?”

“Tribute?” Morpheus frowned and tilted his head to the side. “You talking about human sacrifice?”

“Well, yeah, that's what you pagans do...”

“Most of them do.” He crunched into the orange candy. “Not in my pantheon. We were quite content with the cows, the goats, the sheep and all that other livestock.... we do not condone eating human flesh in my family. Not to mention I can't imagine you taste very good.”

Dean looked from Sam to Cas and back to his brother. “Why does his personality seem familiar?”

“Because he acts like a Muse.” Castiel said flatly. “More than any other Greek I've come across.”

“Speaking of, the next time one of the Nine pisses you off, Castiel – don't take your anger out on one of their kids, it's a petty thing to do.” He shoved the sucker back into his mouth, glowering at the angel.

“So if you've been keeping Sam from Lucifer, does that mean you've also been keeping me from Michael?” Dean really didn't need any more of this – he just wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over his head and while he knew he wouldn't sleep, some down time was seriously needed.

“No, because Michael isn't looking for you. Well, he is – but he's chosen not to go that route yet. He's always been a very direct sort of angel... unfortunately, he can't grasp the concept that while Zachariah is a very efficient worker, when it comes to dealing with humans, he has no frickin' clue what he's doing. If it wasn't so damn serious, it might be funny.”

Sam leaned over and hacked into the bucket again. “I think I need to sleep...”

Dean rubbed his face. “Morpheus, Sulley – whatever the hell you call yourself – can we pick this conversation up – a little later in the day?”

“Sure. Sounds good. Who knows, I might actually be willing to bump up the number of questions you all get.” 

“Are you always like this?” Sam asked, spitting into the bucket. 

“No, not usually – the only time I'm perkier than this is when I've spent a night killing various incarnations of Edward Cullen.” He tossed the stick from his candy into the trash can. “You want some help getting upstairs?”

“No...” Sam staggered to his feet and Dean and Cas took an arm each and helped him to the stairs. Morpheus followed after making the mess in the bucket vanish. It was going to be a long day.

**

If Nate had known he was going to have a visitor show up in his room in the middle of the night, he probably would have picked up the mess. He'd later reflect that at least in terms of laundry, it was just a pair of jeans and some socks. What woke him up was the sound of the furnace kicking back to life at around two in the morning – at least, that's another thing he had to check later as what brought him to full awareness were the flashing green numbers of his alarm clock. “What the?” He squinted in the dark and then noted the lack of the tale-tell sound of a storm to cause the power to flicker on and then off. He was fumbling for his watch when he noted an odd sort of glow coming from the corner of his room. He turned over, expecting to see he'd left the lamp on or his door was open and the hall light was flooding in – but instead saw someone – a very large someone – standing in the corner. “What the?” He blinked and sat up, frowning. “Kittredge?” Nate flipped on his bedside light and saw more clearly. “Uh...” He drew in a long breath, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Sure, he'd seen the trench-coat angel and the green-jacket angel and how they seemed connected to the people they were standing in – with, something... but for some reason, the angel sitting in the corner of the room seemed to dwarf both of them. Or it could be the fact that this angel was standing in the body of a girl who barely passed five feet. “Uh... Heather?”

“Heather's not here right now.” The angel said in a serious tone of Heather's voice. “She's resting.”

“I uh...who are you?” It seemed like the only logical question.

“I am called Michael.” 

Nate felt his eyes widen. “Like, are you _the_ Michael or are there more than one of you?” 

“Just me.” Michael sat down in Nate's desk chair, studying the boy with vague interest. “You look like your mother...” A smile played on his vessel's lips at that. “More than any of your brothers did.”

“I don't have any brothers.” Nate suddenly thought of a very real possibility. “My biological mother isn't an angel, is she?”

“No, Nathan Edward, she is not.” Michael smiled a little wider. “We'll get to that in a moment. I need you to do something for me.”

“Can I hear what it is before I agree to do it?” Nate felt kind of stupid for asking – he had a feeling the angel could just make him do it.

“Of course.” He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear before speaking again. “I need you to go to the Salvage Yard and tell Dean Winchester the only needs to pay attention to the western wall.”

“That's it? I don't have to go like, right now, do I?”

Michael smiled. “No, you can go after school...”

_Tell him to go under the guise of bringing my homework._

Nate saw the angel tilt his head to the side – or would it be her head – considering he was in the body of a girl – as if he was listening to something. “Uh...”

“Heather would like you bring her homework to the house tomorrow... that will give you a plausible reason to make the trip.”

He gave a very nervous laugh. “Yeah... I can sort of see why she won't be there...” That made him think of something else. “Er... how... I mean...”

Michael chuckled softly. “I know how stubborn they are, do not worry.”

“I uh... I think can do what you need me to do... can't promise he'll listen to me.” Nate covered a yawn.

“You need to rest.” Michael stood up. “I have work to do.”

“Sure.” He bit his lip thinking for a moment. “Uh... this might sound like a weird question, but uh... how tall are really? 'Cause you look sort of... I dunno... crunched or something...”

Michael smiled. “Look outside.” He vanished from the room.

“Huh?” He flung back the covers and peered through the blinds and felt his stomach drop. The angel standing in the middle of Ash Street was indescribably tall... Nate tilted his head and looked upward – Michael had to be taller than the Sears Tower in Chicago – but that was the only big building he'd seen from the ground that would work.... truth be told, he couldn't think of a building that tall. Maybe he should think of it in terms of a mountain instead. “Damn...” He blinked and saw that the angel was gone. Grumbling softly, Nate went back to bed, fixed his alarm and pulled the covers over his head – and strangely, found sleep rather quickly.

**

Dean did not honestly remember falling asleep. One minute he'd been helping Sam down onto the bed in the library and the next minute, he woke up, lying on the couch – and the only reason he'd woken up was because he was at the exact perfect angle for the sun to hit him dead in the face when it rose. He grunted once and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He slowly took in the rest of the room – Sam was still snoring away on the bed and Cas was dozing in the easy chair. He still wasn't used to seeing the angel sleep – but it seemed to be the only way he could restore bits of grace to himself. Standing, Dean groaned and stretched then headed into the kitchen. Sleeping at the kitchen table was Morpheus – well, he might have been sleeping, it was hard to tell. Dean crouched down to look at the god a little closer and saw that his eyes were cracked ever-so-slightly – and he could see that the whites of his eyes were that odd shade of blue that he'd seen Melpomene's eyes turn when she was angry. “Pagans...” He shook his head and set about making coffee. It was nearly finished when the other occupant of the room let out an almost inaudible groan and sat up. “Morning.”

Morpheus groaned. “What time is it?”

“Little before six.” Dean yawned and poured himself a mug of the good smelling brew. “You wouldn't know anything about the three of us taking naps in the other room, would you?”

“Depends, where the hell am I?” He blinked around the room, rubbing his face.

“South Dakota.” He frowned. “You okay?”

“Huh?” Morpheus rubbed his eyes again. “Yeah... just got to get things back in order in my head... It's Tuesday, right?”

“Yeah.” Dean took a sip from his mug. “You feeling all right?”

“I need to change my diet... all this stress is starting to get bland...” He coughed. “Oh that's right...” He blinked again as Dean sat down. “I owe you some questions...” Morpheus winced. “Sorry about knocking you and the others out...but this is going to be a lot easier since you've rested...”

“So that was you...” Dean wasn't sure if he should punch the guy or not.

“You'll thank me for it later...” He stretched his arms over his head. “Believe me... you will get through today a lot better with those five hours of sleep than you would have with two.”

“You make a habit of knocking people out?” Dean took a swig from his mug.

“Not usually... but like I said, the three of you needed it. You in particular.” 

“I didn't ask for your help.”

“I can have you snoring again in five seconds flat if your not careful.”

Dean bit back a retort as there was a grunt in the next room and Castiel came into the kitchen. “You okay Cas?”

“I am fine, Dean... I feel...somewhat recovered.” He titled his head at Morpheus and caught something in the god's mind. “Now I do not feel so... weak.”

Morpheus arched an eyebrow at the angel as he came over to one of the chairs and sat down. “Horsemen are quite the bastards, aren't they? Except Death. He's not all that bad... but then again, that could just be my opinion because he's fair and likes Chicago-style pizza.”

“Death is fair?” Dean spat.

“Of course he is.” Morpheus adjusted so he was sitting lotus-style in his chair. “Death is the only thing in this Universe that is one-hundred percent that's fair -because everything dies, from bacteria to stars.” He shrugged sadly. “It's the part that's in between that's not fair.”

“I believe you said we could ask you questions.” Castiel said in reply.

“Yes, yes I did.” Morpheus smiled. “I've changed my mind however about the number... the Winchesters get eight, you can have four.”

“That's very kind of you.” Castiel said in as close to a sarcastic voice as he could manage. “I want to know why you are pissed at me.”

“I told you why I was pissed at you. Taking your anger out on a child because of something a parent did...”

“That's not what I meant.” The angel broke in. “I do not understand why you would be so pissed on behalf of nine members of your family which with you share no direct blood bond.” 

“You don't know the first thing about how my family functions, Castiel. Half of the people in it aren't related in the way they thing they are.” He flicked his eyes down at Dean's coffee mug. “Might I get myself a cup of that?”

“Sure.” Dean frowned and watched as the pagan stood and got his mug and returned to the table. “So you are related to the Muses?”

“Yes.” He looked down into his mug and for a moment, his eyes went slightly blue before raising his head again. “I am... one, closer than the rest.”

Castiel frowned, his mind putting things together very quickly. “You just put Sam into deeper sleep because there's something you don't want him knowing.”

Morpheus nodded and took a long sip from his coffee. “That I did. And you want to know why?”  
Castiel's eyes narrowed. “You're on thin ice, Morpheus...”

“Well then, I'll just come out and say it... I've only got one little sister on my mom's side... so you can't blame me for being a little... protective. There's a boy up the street who's not going to sleep well for months... and that's me being _merciful_.”

Dean was glad he wasn't holding his mug, because he knew he would have dropped it. “You...you're... you're Heather's brother, aren't you?”

“That would be correct.” His eyes narrowed and cut off the angel before he could issue a reply. “I already know how I got here, Castiel – I don't need to be reminded. The only good of it is that my father doesn't know it, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

“Cas, what's he talking about?” Dean suddenly felt very cold.

“Apollo.” Castiel said, his voice full of controlled anger. “Apollo is your father.”

“You'd never think he is, in regards to me, now would you?” Morpheus smirked and took a long drink of coffee.

“I thought that...” Dean was confused – Melpomene had told him she only had mortal children. Then again, she could have been protecting this one. He then filled in the rest of the information that Castiel was referring to. “Shit...”

“There a reason you don't want Sam knowing this?” The angel frowned at the god.

“Yes, but that's currently not open to public discussion.” He twisted in his chair, popping his shoulders. “Let's just leave it at there's very few people who know where I came from – and I prefer to keep it that way.”

“What's to stop us from telling him after you're gone?” Dean asked. 

“Nothing – but then again, I can get into his head and erase the memory as easily as anything. I'm not on the run from Lucifer just yet, but it won't be long until I'll have to be.” He picked up his mug and took another swig of coffee.

“What does Lucifer want with Noah Levin?” Castiel had just about had enough of the pagan's impertinence.

“I can't answer that, you're not privy to that information.” Morpheus replied in a tone that almost sounded playful. “Only the members of Team Humanity are currently allowed to know that, along with various members of Team Lucifer, but I try to avoid demons and fallen angels – they're so pissy.” He glanced at his watch. “I know I promised you twenty questions, but I'm afraid the rest will have to wait...”

“Why?” Dean frowned – this wasn't good.

“Places to go, people to see... Apocalypses to prevent.” He grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and a moment later, he was gone.

“Pagans.” In Castiel's voice, the word sounded like a curse.

“You used to give answers that vague too, you know...” Dean shook his head and went into the other room to wake up his brother.

***

This winter was rapidly moving up to being one of the snowiest Noah had ever seen. The foot of the white stuff that had fallen on Washington had once again canceled schools across the area – although he thought some of it might happen to be because of the insane cold that went along with it. He was glad, however, that now they had started calling the professors at Georgetown the night _before_ rather than having to be woken up by a phone call at five in the morning. Noah had decided to use the day off to get ahead with his lessons and grading – as his graduate assistant was getting ready for midterms – and he'd recently been told he was going on the review board for various projects by the students in the doctoral program. He'd still not mentioned the trip he was planning to make to New York to his son just yet, but had mentioned it to his parents - they would be here for their regular trip to visit during the event. He still wasn't to sure what the angel was going to have him do – or even if he'd actually dreamed most of the visit.

He tossed his pen down in frustration and glanced at the clock on the corner of his desk – it was almost noon. He stood and left the study, pausing at the stairs. “Wes... you want anything in particular for lunch?”

Wesley opened the door of his room and leaned out into the hallway. “Can we have grilled cheese and tomato soup? Please?”

Noah smiled. “Sure. I'll call you when it's ready.”

“Thanks, dad.” He pulled back into his room, leaving the door open.

Noah shook his head and headed into the kitchen. When he got there, he froze in the threshold and stared. Sitting at the kitchen table – her back to him, was a girl in an over-sized khaki colored coat and blue jeans. A pair of black combat boots were resting on the rung of the chair, but strangely, despite the fact that anyone who walked into the house should be leaving puddles, the floor was bone dry – as were the girl's clothes. He only knew it was a girl and not a boy was because of the long hair that was a cross between tangled and curled. That was just the body – for the third time, Noah found himself facing an angel. It was another massive one – and like the one from a few weeks ago, looked oddly compacted in his kitchen. Almost as if she knew she was being watched, the girl turned in the chair and looked over at him. “Hello, Noah.” 

He blinked once and took a hesitant step. “I...uh...”

“I'm not here to harm you or your son. You are perfectly safe.” The girl – angel – tilted her head to the side, smiling. “I know you've already talked to my brother. It's all right.” 

“Who....” Noah managed to get over to the counter for support. “Who are you....”

“I am Michael.” She smiled, resting her chin on the back of the chair. “Everything is going to be just fine, Noah.”

“Are... are you here to tell me....” He was wracking his brain, trying to figure out who the other one had been if this was Michael. 

“My brother had to come and ask you what he did...” The girl looked sad. “Emil is far to old to be making the journey that would be required of him.”

“Who's Emil?” 

The angel beckoned him over. “Come and sit, Noah. I can tell you much, but not everything.” She tilted her head again as he slowly moved over to the table, his face still clearly terrified. “You resemble your mother.” She paused. “However I think your boy looks more like your father.” 

Noah sank into a chair, frowning. “Does... will your brother know I talked to you?”

“Yes.” She moved to sit with her feet flat on the floor and her hands flat on the table. When she did, Noah caught sight of a silver bracelet covered in charms on her wrist. “I would have talked to you first but... circumstances did not allow for it.”

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Something tells me angels don't make a habit of possessing twelve year old girls...”

“Actually, Heather Grace is thirteen.” She made an odd look that was almost a smile. “I've already told her who you are... she asked me to tell you hello, and she would very much like to meet you as herself when all of this is over.”

Noah frowned. “Is... is she in there?” He made a slight movement with his finger, trying to point and not point at the same time.

“Oh yes... she's sleeping at the moment, the child was in sore need of rest. More than a girl her age should be.” Michael shifted her seat again. “I am here to ask something else of you... something you may or may not have to do.”

Noah swallowed. “Um... may I ask... what it is first, before I agree?”

The angel almost laughed. “How amusing... I was asked the same question by your cousin not twelve hours ago.”

“Cousin?” Noah frowned. 

“There is time for that later, Noah Daniel. I can tell you that you currently have several biological cousins who are alive...but only two of them can see the way that you do.... and one of them...” she looked down, almost as if she was searching for something amiss. “Is a little... occupied.”

“That... that girl you're in.... is my _cousin_?” 

“Oh yes... your single cousin on your father's side... he's a little occupied at the moment too...” Michael shut her eyes in silent frustration and then opened them again. “James is the reason I am here.”

“James?” Noah heard the tell-tale sound of footsteps on the stairs. _Wes..._

“Yes. James is the son of your father's youngest sister.” She slowly turned in her chair towards the doorway, looking at the boy standing there. “Hello, Wesley Jacob.”

“Dad...” Wes's eyes widened. “Dad, there's an angel sitting at the table...”

“I... I know... it's okay....” He beckoned for his boy to come over to him and put an arm protectively around him when Wes was next to his chair. “I don't... I don't understand...”

“I do not know if your cousin will survive what is to come, Noah. I do not know if the angel called Castiel who is currently residing in your cousin will survive. My only concern is that his child, Claire, is taken care of.”

“Did something happen to Claire's mom?” Wes wasn't as afraid as his dad was. This was an _angel_ after all – it couldn't be _that_ bad, could it?

“Amelia Novak was murdered... the demon who performed the deed has already been dealt with.” Michael stood. “And I must go.”

“But...” Noah was about to ask where Claire was now but the angel vanished before he could speak. “Wesley... don't go talking about what just happened, okay?”

“Sure dad...” He blinked a few times. “Uh... I came down to see if you needed help with lunch... but I'm not that hungry any more...”

“Me neither...” Noah had recovered from his shock somewhat and his brain was starting to think straight again. All of a sudden, he realized something – _Novak_ – that was a last name... - _James_ – a first – now he had something he could track. He could do that on his own... “Wes, how would you like to help your old man out with a little research project?”

***

Bobby's arrival home was half joyful, half angry. The boys filled him in on what had happened with Famine and their arrival back at his place. He wasn't to keen on the boys accepting help from a pagan god, but desperate times were calling for desperate measures. Unfortunately, the old hunter didn't know if it was possible to make hex bag mojo to defend oneself from a pagan – and the fact that Heather was now Heaven knew where, didn't help matters much. Castiel had stated that trying to find her would be beyond impossible. He could however, assure them that Michael wouldn't go after Lucifer in Heather's body. That was about the only good news in the whole mess. 

“What I don't get is how she fell off that bridge in the first place.” Sam said. “The railing should be high enough to prevent it.”

“It's only high on one side.” Bobby replied. “State Maintenance was supposed to come out and repair that months ago, but given the low volume of traffic on that road – it's not a high priority – they've got pot holes to fix instead.”

“Still doesn't explain how she fell.” Dean said, frowning. “Unless something hit her.”

“What kind of asshole hits someone with their car, a kid no less, and drives off?” Sam shook his head. 

“You'd be surprised.” Castiel said from the doorway. “I believe I can answer one other question...” He came over to the table and set down a ragged looking teddy bear. “There is a powerful hex bag inside of this stuffed animal. I believe this is what has kept demons from finding her.”

Dean pulled the battered animal over towards him. “Who'd...” He frowned. “Dad gave this to her... back when she was a baby...” He turned the animal over in his hands and found a small tag still attached to it's leg, the blue thread faded but still readable. “Build-a-Bear Workshop...” He shook his head. “If this thing's been in her bed every night...” He put it back down and the bear fell spread eagle on the table.

Castiel nodded slowly. “Odds are, neither Heather nor her parents knew of the contents.” 

Sam bit at the corner of his thumb. “But it doesn't keep angels out...”

“No.” He frowned. “This only explains how she was hidden from Azazel and the other demons that she may have encountered, as it is easier to track a person who is sleeping than awake.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I think I might have an explanation.”

“What's that?” Bobby asked.

He let out a small laugh. “It's so easy, I can't believe we didn't think if it earlier...” He looked at the three of them, his confidence in what he was thinking growing. “Cas, you said Michael was the most powerful angel in Heaven, right?”

“Yes...” Castiel frowned and then gave him an odd look. “You think Michael hid her?”

“Why not...” Dean said, straightening up. “I mean, you said yourself she's more valuable to him and Lucifer alive than dead...”

*

Dean came up the stairs, carrying Heather's bag in one hand and her bear in the other. He knew that from what Cas had told him, the girl would be dead if she hadn't let Michael possess her. Still didn't mean he liked it. Hell, it wasn't supposed to be stuck on that insane ride, it was supposed to be _him_. He knew the others would try and stop him if he went off on his own – they'd do everything in their power to keep him from going down that road. He nudged the door to the girl's room open with his foot and set the bag down on the chair and put the bear on the bed, which he noted, was actually made. The whole room was actually pretty clean – he figured that had to be a girl thing. He sat down on the bed, wincing at the groaning of the springs as the mattress sank under his weight. He'd not been in the room in almost two months – figuring Heather needed one little corner of the world where she could be alone. 

If Dean though he was caught between a rock and a hard place before, this only made it ten times worse. He didn't want Michael in Heather anymore than he wanted Michael in him, but options were rapidly running out and well... _fuck it_. He stood up and walked over to the dresser, frowning down at the sparse contents – a one winged angel, a water pitcher, a paper weight of some kind and a two-handled bowl. It was the contents of the bowl that made him pause. Resting in the fine china was his amulet. The one Sam had given him when he was younger than Heather – the one he'd loaned to Castiel to help him find God. He picked up the thin leather cord, the gold charm cold against his hand. He didn't even think about it – he'd wanted it back since the moment he'd given it to the angel. Dean slipped the cord over his head and felt the charm settle against his collarbone. That was where it belonged. He sighed and started for the door – and just as he was about to open it wider, he caught sight of something over the light switch. 

Writing. He flicked the light on so he could read it better.

_When going through Hell – keep going._

“Huh...” He was about to turn the light off and head downstairs when he caught more writing – this at about his eye level. 

_i Can't deny whAt I believe, I can't be what I'm not – if only tearS were laughter, if only night were day – If only prayers were answered – no matter what they teach you, what you believe is true._

“Okay, this is weird...” Dean slowly stepped back, looking at the wall around the door. It was covered in writing – almost floor to ceiling. He jerked his head to the left – the wall with the dresser also had writing on it – he did a slow three-sixty and saw nothing but writing on all four walls. It hadn't blacked out the wallpaper, but there was so _much_ of it, unless you looked closely, you'd think the letters were marks in a pattern on cream. Different colors, yes – but the pattern seemed to keep repeating itself. “Sam!” He yelled down into the hallway. “Get up here!”

“What?” Sam ran up the stairs to stand in the door. “What is it?” He could hear Bobby coming up behind them.

“I think I know what Heather's been doing in here...” 

Sam stepped into the room, taking in the marks on the wall. “Holy shit...”

Bobby stood in the doorway, frowning. “What the hell...” He glanced up the ceiling for a moment where there was even more writing and then cursed. “That crazy idjit girl...” He moved over to the dresser to look at a cluster of words and Castiel came into the doorway.

“Cas, did you notice this writing when you came in here earlier?” Dean asked.

“No...” He frowned as he looked over the words that were on the other side of the door. “I do believe, however – she may be trying to tell us something...”

“You think?” Bobby replied.

“Pick a wall, any wall...” Dean snorted and went over to the window. “Cas, I don't suppose you can tell which message has been here the longest, can you?”

The angel walked over to the space where the wall with the dresser met the back one. “Here...” He pointed at a line of text written in green pencil at about what would have been Heather's eye level.

 _The time to stand has come at last – the bridge is burned, the die is cast – for the home we hold so dear, let us give the last full measure gathered here._

“You think she's been talking to Michael this entire time?” Sam said from the wall where the bed was.

“Most definitely...” Cas turned and faced the group. “I believe now we also know why he wasn't looking for Dean via the dream world... he'd already found a connection.”

Bobby shook his head. “I take it back, that girl is grounded until she's thirty...”


	21. How to Save a Life

After a short discussion, Dean, Bobby and Sam decided to go through the messages on the walls in Heather's room one side at a time. Castiel stated that tracking Michael would be suicidal at this point and had resolved to find the person who most likely had the rest of the answers they needed: Melpomene. He figured it would take him at least two days to track the muse down, a week at the most – provided she neither went home or did any time travel. The group had started with the wall least covered – the one with the window – and it had taken them a good three hours to get everything transferred down to paper. The three of them went down to get settled in the library and start to work through whatever sort of crazed message Heather had been trying to send. 

Sam went outside to get more wood for the fireplace before getting down to his part in the research – being the most technological savvy of the three, he was going to go through Heather's laptop and I-Pod . He was halfway through filling the carrying trough when the sound of a diesel engine caused him to pause. A flatbed tow-truck had pulled into the salvage yard and was lowering a very wrecked looking sedan into what could be considered Bobby's front yard. He set the logs he was carrying down and half walked, half slid down the ramp to meet the driver and two passengers – the older one angry and the younger half angry, half scared. “There a problem?”

“Yeah, there's a fucking problem.” The older of the passengers spat in Sam's face. The man was two inches shorter than him but didn't seem to notice. “Where's the kid?”

Sam blinked. “Kid?” 

“Don't play dumb with me... I know this is where the red-headed girl lives.”

“Dad...” The teenager seemed slightly embarrassed at the moment. “I don't know if...”

“Look.” The man poked Sam in the chest. “I know that girl did this, so get her down here so I can have a few words with her!”

“Did what?” Sam asked as he heard the front door open and shut and someone come down and join him. He turned his attention to the wrecked car and did a double take. All four tires had been slashed and everywhere – on the doors, hood, trunk, even on the windows and bumpers there were scratches. He moved closer to inspect them and saw they weren't scratches, but words. It appeared to be the same phrase over and over again. He had to search for a moment to find one in a language he recognized.

“What's going on here?” It was Bobby. “What'd you dumping your crap in my yard for, Smithson?”

“That niece of yours has trashed my son's car, that's what!”

Sam glanced up to see the owner of the tow truck come over to Bobby. “Sorry I didn't call beforehand Bobby – but...”

“Not your fault, Greg.” Bobby sighed. “Least you've never brought me a car with a body in the trunk.”  
“Stop stalling!” Smithson barked. “Just let me talk to the kid!”

Sam brushed his thumb against one of the marks – he'd finally found one in English. _Thou Shalt Not Kill_. He looked up. “If you think Heather did this, you're sorely mistaken.”

“What?” 

Sam stood up straighter, repressing a smirk – he had a pretty good idea what had happened. “You're telling me that a thirteen year old girl got out of bed with a severe case of flu and a broken leg... got all the way to wherever you had this parked, did this to your car and got back here without any of us noticing? That's about the most unbelievable thing I've heard in years and I've heard lots of bullshit in the past decade.”

Bobby came over to the car and was looking it over and Sam could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Not to mention the fact that she doesn't know most of these languages on this car... a few phrases in Spanish and German maybe, but I doubt she speaks Japanese.”

“Why don't I believe you?” Smithson barked.

“Believe what you want.” Bobby came over to the man. “How many times have I called you to tell your idjit son not to chase that girl with his car?”

“Well, maybe if the girl would stop playing chicken...”

“Oh shit, I hit her?” The kid finally spoke up. “I didn't think...”

All four adults turned to stare at the kid. “I thought I was far enough ahead of her to get back into my lane!” Panic was evident on his face. “She... she didn't fall off the bridge, did she?”

“Oh, damn it, Keith!” Smithson smacked his son on the back of the head. “Was that girl playing chicken or not?”

“No!” Now the kid sounded terrified. “Honestly, I didn't mean to hurt her! I didn't think I'd hit her!” 

“I'll get the car out of your yard Bobby...” Greg shook his head and headed for his truck. “Go ruin Sheriff Mills's day instead.”

Sam headed back for the house as he heard Bobby and the man talking, the upshot of it being Bobby telling him to get the hell off of his property. He picked up the logs and went inside. “That's just crazy...”

“What's crazy?” Dean said from the library. 

“The car that's getting hauled out of here... I think either Michael or Gabriel did a number on it... I'm betting on the former.”

Dean looked up as Sam fed the fire. “What makes you say that?”

“I'd say because the kid that hit Heather is walking around and not stuck in some illusion.” Sam groaned and sat down on the couch, pulling the girl's I-Pod towards him and flipping it on. “Guess it's a good thing she left this at home the other day... odds are, it would have been fried otherwise.”

“Can we please not discuss what shape Heather's things might be in right now?” Dean was doing his best to try and not think of how the archangel that was supposed to be wearing him was now wearing his daughter instead. 

“Just saying...” Sam frowned. “She sure gives her play-lists weird names.”

“Such as?” Dean said, going back to his stack as the door opened and Bobby came inside. 

“After the usual top rated and what not, the first one is entitled Alder and Percy Slaying Dragons.”

Bobby chuckled softly and poured himself the last cup of coffee and then made a fresh pot. “Those are fictional characters Sam. I heard her and that other kid, Nate or something talking about 'em last time he was here. According to them, one was born a badass and the other achieved badassary by killing a Titan.” He went into the library.

“Anything else of interest on that thing, Sammy?” Dean said, frowning at a line of text that he knew had to be from the Bible just on how it was written.”

“Yeah... the last play-list on here... Songs on the Wall.” 

“I'm guessing she's not talking about Pink Floyd.” Dean replied. “I doubt she even knows who that is...”

“Oh she knows...” Sam was flicking through the list of songs. “She's got practically their entire works saved on her laptop. I noticed them the first time I went through her music folder.”

Bobby came into the library and sat down at the desk, looking over his own pile of papers. “Given how full those walls are, she's been doing this for over a month... odds are, she was going to move to the ceiling soon.”

**

Heather wasn't entirely unaware of what was going on around her. Most of the time she had the feeling of either being carried around in her own mind or being curled up in a warm place. Even the dark didn't bother her all that much. Occasionally, however, sounds would shake her hidden spot – and they had to be _very_ , very loud for her to hear them in the first place. Her concept of time was long gone so it could have been as little as two hours or as much as two decades for all she knew. But the near omnipresent feeling was the sensation of moving fast – so fast that stopping actually _hurt_. She'd seen a few things – a rusted out factory, a vaulted ceiling and a massive swath of blue-black she assumed was an ocean or other large body of water. Michael didn't talk that much – but when he did, he seemed to ramble on for stretches of time without taking a breath – it was dizzying. For now, they were stationary and Heather had the feeling they were waiting for something. “Where are we?”

“We are in Italy.” Michael's didn't sound like hers in her head and he didn't sound like he used to when he talked in her dreams. He was starting to sound like Dean.

Heather was about to ask where in Italy they were when her vision cleared a little and she was able to see. They were against a stone building looking into an open restaurant. The strong smell of oregano, sage and basil assailed her senses and she almost felt hunger. The focus of Michael's attention seemed to be on a man sitting at a table with two women, one with black hair and the other with red. The man was insanely good looking – he might be not any older than Dean in appearance, but she could tell that he was much, much older. Then a feeling nearly overwhelmed her as Michael narrowed her eyes at the man.

Fury.

There was no other word for it – it wasn't just a strong dislike, this was a horrific feeling – an anger and hate so unfathomable that it made blood boil and rational thought almost disappear. That was the first time Heather was actually afraid. “Who is that?”

“Apollo.” In Michael's voice, the name sounded like a curse.

“Uh, does he know we're here?” Heather frowned in her own mind.

“No.” Michael lifted their chin, the feeling wasn't subsiding at all – but it was being controlled as they watched the two women giggle at something Apollo said and then their food was brought out. “We're hidden... his companions are Calliope and Euterpe.” 

“Let me guess... he's an asshole.” Heather was about to apologize for the curse when Michael responded.

“Heather, there are millions of assholes on this planet who are better people than that... _thing_ is.” And then the two of them left and Heather sank back into darkness.

**

Nate had only been in the Singer house once and even then, he'd not looked around at all. He'd followed Heather's directions to the bathroom and not nosed around at all. Although he'd merely _glanced_ into the library and knew he'd wanted to spend a few hours in there if he possibly could. The man had more books then it seemed possible. He tucked the brown grocery bag under his arm that held the two textbooks that had been in Heather's locker and the assignments as he made his way up the freshly de-iced and shoveled ramp that led to the kitchen door. He had seen the shiny black Impala parked in one of the garages, which meant Dean was probably here. “I just hope they don't ask me to explain what the hell the Western Wall is.” He knocked on the door once. He saw the shade covering the window shift slightly and then the door was opened. “Uh, hi...”

Sam frowned down at the kid. “Help you?”

“Yeah...” Nate shifted the bag in his arms. “I... I'm Nate, I go to school with Heather... I uh, wanted to bring her our assignments and stuff, since she was sick today.”

Sam blinked. “Oh...right.” He opened the door a little more fully and took the bag from him. “You're the one she's working on that project with, right?”

“It's a diorama of _The Quillian Games,_ glad to see you pay attention, Dean.” He snapped in reply.

Sam stared at him. “I'm not Dean, I'm Sam.” He frowned. “Wait... are there two Nates in your class, or is it just you?”

“Is there a problem if I am the only Nate?” He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. 

“Nate who can see the angels...”

“Yeah, just like Heather can, why?”

“Who is it, Sam?” Bobby came over to the door and opened it a little wider. “Hey, kid.”

“Hello, Mr. Singer.” Nate instantly stood up a little straighter. 

“Heather's sick today.” 

“I know, I brought her today's homework. Course, Luke said she sounded like death warmed over yesterday, so I'm guessing today she sounds like death deep fried...” 

“Who the hell is Luke?” Bobby asked.

“Luke Andros, they ride the bus together because he's the only person in our class who lives all the way out here too... Well, the only person who's talked to her lately.” Nate bit at the corner of his lip. “The girls don't really like her because she hates all that vampire and werewolf crap.” He glanced away for a moment. “Uh, Mr. Singer, could I uh...”

“Yeah, kid – come on inside...” Bobby pulled Sam back to let the boy inside. “You remember where the bathroom is?”

“Yes, sir.” He kicked the snow off his boots before stepping into the house. “Thank you.” He took his coat off, set it on a kitchen chair and made his way through the library, getting a glance from the man sitting at one of the desks and went down the hall to the bathroom.

“Bobby...” Sam asked in a quiet tone. “Do kids get out of taking shots of holy water?”

“He just walked under a Devil's Trap, son... that would have got him cold if there was something in him that wasn't supposed to be there.” Bobby shook his head and went back into the library. “Any progress?”

“Well, I've gotten all the words in bold singled out – and one word keeps showing up, a grand total of seven times...the strange thing is, the word is _light_.” He glanced towards the hallway. “That's Heather's friend, Nate, right?”

“Yeah.” Bobby said, looking over the list of words. 

“That's weird...” Dean frowned. “Him coming all the way out here with her homework when she's only been sick one day...”

“Maybe there's something up with their project he wants to check on...” Bobby frowned. “I hope he knows where the two of them stashed it, because I sure don't.” 

Sam picked up the tablet Dean had been working on. “Some of these phrases seem familiar for some reason...”

The sound of the toilet flushing and then water being run caused the three of them to turn to the hallway and when Nate came back into the library, he stopped short, looking at them. “Uh... did I do something wrong?”

“No, it's okay.” Bobby said quickly. “Thanks for bringing Heather's things out here. Though I'm not sure she'll be up to doing any homework any time soon.”

“Yeah... I hear this flu is pretty brutal...” He started to say something else but something in his mind clicked. “Um, I see you got better Mr. Singer.”

“What do you mean kid?”

“Weren't you in a wheelchair the last time I saw you?”

“I got better.” Bobby left it at that, hoping the kid would use his common sense and get the hell out of his house.

“Well, that's good.” He turned and headed back into the kitchen to put his coat on. 

Dean stood up from his seat at the desk and followed him. “Can I ask you something?”

“I guess.” Nate straightened the collar of his coat. 

“You know Heather isn't here, don't you?” Dean said, fully aware that Bobby and Sam were listening.

Nate's arms fell and he set his hands on the back of a chair as he took a deep breath. “Yeah.” He looked up at Dean. “I don't know what's going on with the angels and stuff... but I have a feeling she sort of got dragged into the middle of it kicking and screaming.”

“What makes you say that?” Sam said, coming up next to Dean.

“Because that would be my reaction... whatever is going on with her, it's major and she doesn't want anyone getting close to her... heck, there's only two other people in our class besides me who's gotten more than five sentences out of her at a time.” Nate started to fasten up his coat. “I'm surprised Mrs. Fasci or Mr. Saunderson hasn't found a reason to send her to the school counselor yet.”

“Who's Mr. Saunderson?” Dean asked.

“He's our history teacher.” He dug his gloves out of his pockets and let out a breath. “I mean, it can't be easy for her, losing her parents the way she did...”

“She told you what happened to her parents?” Sam said incredulously.

“Not exactly... I mean, I know they died, but I figured out how they died on my own...not to mention I found the news article on-line.” Nate felt his shoulders droop. “I really should get back... I've got my own homework to do.” He started for the door and paused with his hand on the knob. “I uh... I was told to tell you that you just need to pay attention to the western wall... whatever that means.” He shrugged and went outside. As he paused to pull his helmet off the back of his four-wheeler, he glanced up at the house and saw Dean standing near one of the windows upstairs, looking at something in the room. Nate shook his head left the salvage yard on his four-wheeler and headed for home.

*

It took another three days to get all the of the phrases, quotes and other notes copied down from the walls in Heather's room. They had figured that the western wall Nate had mentioned had been that wall of the girl's room – it was the one that he bed was against and seemed to contain more block letter words than the other three. Sam had figured out that the play-list on the I-Pod coincided with the longer phrases written down. He was still trying to think how the girl had managed to get so much down in such a short amount of time. But what all of them were really waiting for was for Cas to come back with the Melpomene in tow. 

Dean, in an effort to try and understand something of the music left behind – and to get some time alone to think about just what the hell Michael was doing with Heather, he'd gotten a pair of headphones and had started going through the play-list. Most of the songs made his body cringe in distaste – the band called Train made him sick and Carbon Leaf was weird. He wasn't sure if the order was a factor or not. He was in the middle of his third run through of the damn thing when suddenly he realized something about one of the tunes. He had hit repeat on it several times, but after wracking his brain and listening to the song at least six times, Dean realized where he'd heard the song 'I Believe' by Cowboy Mouth before.

It was the song Melpomene had hummed under her breath. 

**

Noah had always been prepared for any bad news he would find out about his birth family. When he was younger, he used to think that his father had been killed in the Vietnam War and his mother couldn't shoulder the burden of being a single mother. Or they'd been hippies and a baby would affect their free wheeling life-style. He'd never felt truly abandoned, he never felt left behind – he was born at a time when adoption was relatively easy. He'd actually felt very thankful at times that his parents had realized they couldn't take care of him and so, had given him up. The name that the angel had let slip – or more likely, had said on purpose – _James Novak_ – had given him a way to start tracing back to the past. 

He found a total of three James Novaks living in the United States – but as only one was missing, it hadn't been that hard to find out more information. It was when he found a photograph of the man that he'd been a little startled. His cousin had dark hair and sharp blue eyes. Wesley thought that the two of them looked alike and the more he studied the 'Missing' poster, the more Noah could see it. They had a similar build, the same hair line, the same ears. Oddly though, there weren't any reports of the man's daughter, Claire being missing. Even with the reports of Amelia Novak's death – Noah figured the girl was in some kind of Angelic Witness Protection or something. Which sounded both insane and plausible at the same time. 

James, he also learned, had been raised by his aunt and uncle in Pontiac, Illinois after his parents had been killed in a car crash when he was six. That had been rather heartbreaking to read. Noah was two years older than his cousin and couldn't fathom what would have happened to him and his sister if they had lost their parents at that age. Marcia Higgs-Simon, James's aunt, was the only living child of Nicholas and Jane Higgs. Their other two children, the other daughter being James's mother, had died fourteen months apart. 

Noah did a little more digging and found out about the couple's one son – Aaron. The man had died in the Tenerife Air Disaster in nineteen seventy-seven. After another long search, Noah finally found a picture of the man he assumed to be his biological father. The quality was horrible, since it'd been taken in seventy-six, but he could make out a few details. Mainly that the angel had been right. He knew that face all to well... Wes _did_ look like him. Knowing one half of his parentage felt good... but that left one very, very alarming fact left.

The angel had stated that the girl he was possessing was also his cousin – apparently on his biological mother's side. But if the girl was thirteen... that made her twenty-six years younger than he was. Well, he'd heard of massive age differences in families before.... and for all he knew, the two sisters had different mothers. 

**

Mnemosyne stood motionless in the vast chamber, her hands behind her back, waiting. She'd only been summoned like this four times in the past. The last time had been shortly after the American Civil War. She didn't say anything, despite the fact that her mind was ringing with thoughts of _I told you so_ and _there's still time to fix this._ The braziers were dim, giving exactly two pools of light to illuminate the space and the air was heavy with the scent she always associated with Zeus – that heavy, to-rich smell of perfume. And then there was the god himself. Try as she could, Mnemosyne could never make herself completely hate him. She had nine miracles left from that encounter and she couldn't hate their father without hating them. No, she didn't hate Zeus.... she just hated his actions. He was pitiable, the way so many pagans tended to be. Stumbling little children, not to unlike humans, but with a lot more punch to them that made them feel superior. She released the breath she was holding as Zeus slowly straightened his shoulders, his gaze still in front of him, staring at the massive frieze that decorated the far wall. 

“I... I do not like sending you on this mission again.” He let out a deeper breath. “You never did tell me what my brother said.”

The Titan-Angel swallowed. “He was expecting me. I do not know if it was his intention to be caught or not.”

Zeus looked over his shoulder, his blue eyes were rimmed in red. “A hunter killed him, correct?”

“Yes, Zeus.” Mnemosyne bit at the corner of her lip, frowning. “He broke the first rule, only the second requires intimidate execution. No one has ever been foolish enough to break the third, let alone the fourth.”

“That is true...” The god swallowed hard and looked away from her. “Just... just make it quick, will you?”

“Understood.” She inclined her head slightly and backed away. 

**

Mercury, also known as Hermes, had always prided himself on getting ahead of schedule on almost anything he ever set about to do. The Elysian Fields Hotel was nothing short of perfect. He'd been among the first to arrive and had the whole place almost completely set up before the other gods were present. The only one who had not shown up yet was Kali, who, for some unknown reason, was delayed. Ganesh couldn't explain her absence either, and they were in the same pantheon. It didn't matter either way, the talk was going horribly. Half of them wanted to catch the Winchesters and kill them. The others wanted to capture the two men and then hold them for ransom against the angels. Either way, neither method worked out. They didn't even have the Winchester Brothers yet. So, as the brothers _weren't_ hidden from pagans...

The bell on the desk ringed once and he looked up. “Checking in.” A cold voice said.

Mercury smile faltered slightly. He'd not seen an angel at this close of a range in centuries. “Lucifer.” He heard his voice nearly crack. “So good to see you.” 

The angel smirked. Arrogant little shit. “Well, you did call me.” He could be personable for a few minutes longer.

“It's just that...” Mercury shrugged every so slightly. “The way that it's going in there...”

“Oh you did the right thing.” Lucifer was thinking that he might just save this one until last when a soft cough came from behind him.

“Excuse me.” 

Lucifer turned and both he and Mercury turned and stared at the woman standing in the angel's shadow.

“What are you doing here?” The god said in an accusatory tone. “ _You_ lost the vote, remember Mnemosyne?”

“I know I did. That's not why I am here.” She turned to Lucifer. “I am very sorry to interrupt your little pow-wow, but I need to speak with Hermes here for just... oh, not more than five minutes... then I'll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing.” She kept her voice contrite and humble. “I'll even do you a favor and forget I saw you here.”

Lucifer stared at the Titan. “Is this some of your seriously deranged pagan shit?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

Mercury's eyes narrowed. “Why are you here, anyway? You're not supposed to be here, it's breaking the fourth rule....if you get caught, my father will send his assassin after you.”

“Oh, I'm not afraid of the assassin.” Mnemosyne said, the faintest tint of superiority creeping into her voice. 

Lucifer folded his arms and smirked. “This is rather amusing...” He nodded slightly to the woman. “You can have your five minutes.”

“Thank you.” Mnemosyne replied and reached into her pocket, pulling out a small chunk of coal. “Hermes, do you know what this is?”

“It's Mercury and that's...” His expression became confused. “That's a... an ember from Hestia's Fire.” He looked at Mnemosyne as if seeing her for the first time. “But... but only the assassin and Hestia can pull those from the blaze.” He went from shocked to horrified. “ _You_?” 

“That's the best you can come up with? After three thousand years of wondering who the assassin is and that's all you can say?” Mnemosyne chuckled. 

“Oh, so you're the one who killed Poseidon” Lucifer interjected.

“Actually, that was Elijah Campbell...” She replied. “He really should have laid off the sauce... broke rule number one.” She turned back to Mercury, grabbed him by his collar and shoved the stone into his mouth, shaking the younger god until he swallowed it. “You, Hermes,” She kept using his Greek name because she knew it pissed him off. “Have broken rule number two... aiding and indulging in the act of unwilling human sacrifice. That's grounds for immediate execution.” She threw the god against the wall, releasing him. The 'E' in 'Elysian' shattered on impact. “But I come in here to find you in violation of rule number three..” She looked over at Lucifer for effect. “What part of not throwing rocks at the hornet's nest _don't_ you understand?”

“Hornet's nest?” Lucifer was taken aback.

“Collective term for angels...no offense meant.” She turned back to the god. “You have been found guilty and have been expelled from the fire of Olympus and are no longer welcome into our fold. As the law which was established which you have broken calls for immediate death....” She stopped, bit her lip and shot a look at Lucifer. “But I think today...” She tapped her lips with a finger. “Ennie, meanie, minie mo....” She wagged the finger between the other two for a moment. “Father told me to pick the best one and you are not it..” Her finger landed on Mercury. 

“You...won't get away with this...” The god stammered. “My father...” 

Mnemosyne moved fast. She slammed one hand on the side of Lucifer's vessel and as he recoiled from the released memories, her fingers left his skin her other hand was on the god's head in a motion to fast to be seen. “Actually, you don't have parents, you sorry sack of creationary fall-out.” She stepped back, a triumphant smile on her face, hands falling to her sides. “How do you feel, _adelfos_?” She directed at Lucifer.

“Arael?” The angel was stunned – he thought his sister had been dead all this time and now... now... He looked over at the god, who suddenly looked nothing short of terrified. He remembered now – remembered the day that Joshua had crawled into his father's garden, wings broken and bent, screaming those horrifying words. And the he saw what his sister had seen – a god had caught her when she tried to run – _this_ god was the who had broken his sister's wings. She'd known her fate before she had left, known what been coming... but even so... Lucifer became furious. “How...”

“Now I bet you really wish you'd have come with me instead of climbing that garden wall.” She shook her head. “Remember to clean up after you're done playing.” She turned and looked over at the clock. “I'm done thirty seconds early...”

“I...uh...I...” Mercury tried to bolt and was suddenly obliterated. 

Lucifer lowered his hand and turned to look at his sister. “You've been there, all this time?”

“Yes, yes I have.” She sighed and turned. “By the way, you look like shit, Luci, you should really take a bath.” She shook her head and walked out the door of the motel, keeping her focus dead in front of her. She was halfway across the asphalt when Kali materialized, heading for her. Normally, she would have given the Hindu goddess the right of way, but not now, not this time. The moment they were level, she grabbed the younger woman, turned her around roughly and kept walking. 

“What do...”

“There's a world of hurt going on in there...” A loud yell, it sounded like Zao Shen, echoed towards them. “There was a break down in the peace talks and it's every god and goddess for themselves now.”

“Are... how...” Kali was dumbfounded. First, the Titan was actually acting authoritative, when in the past she'd been meek and silent. Secondly, she actually wasn't afraid of what was going on behind her. “Is there...” A moment later and the two of them were walking down a road somewhere in the Himalayas. 

“Why don't you be a good girl and stay over here in your hemisphere while us Westerners have our little fight.” Mnemosyne backed away. “You don't like us much anyway.”

“How dare...” Kali was about to strike the Titan down when a hand grabbed her wrist. She looked over. “Loki?”

“Thank you, Mnemosyne.” Gabriel said quietly. 

“You're welcome.” She inclined her head slightly and vanished.

“What is going on?” Kali rounded on the the Norse god.

“A lot.” Gabriel sighed. “....and you just dodged one of the biggest god slaughters since the Greeks went to Egypt...”

**

Calliope stood, arms akimbo, glaring around the sitting room at seven of her eight sisters – the only one missing was Erato, who was in Vancouver. She wasn't a part of this, she knew that. Atty had no children. She took a deep breath and started to pace the room. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can all go about our business.” She noted that Perry looked like she would rather be somewhere else and Thalia kept her gaze on the floor. “I know that the five of you...” She glared at her remaining sisters. “All had children alive during the second World War. I also know that Emil is the only one still alive.” She gave a pointed look at Urania. 

Terpsichore shifted in her seat. “I really don't see what your point is here, sister.”

“The point, Cori... is the fact that we need to start accounting for all the children... thanks to Clio and her darling Riordan fellow...” She spat.

“It's a _story_ , Callie.” Clio spat out. “You don't really care one way or another if we have any living children, it's Apollo who wants to know.”

“He has a right to know.” Thalia spoke up. “He's our brother...”

“Yeah, so is Ares... are we going to tell him too?” Melpomene retorted. 

“Of course not.” Thalia jumped up. “Apollo is different!”

“Just because you sold your kids out so he could blackmail you doesn't mean you have the right to drag the rest of us into your guilt filled Hell.” Urania stood up. “It _doesn't_ matter.”

“Oh it does matter.” Calliope said, sneering. “Because I have had just about enough of the five of you being so insubordinate to our brother. Dad said we had to do what he said...”

Clio's face went black with rage. “I don't think part of that condition was sleeping with him....”

Polly stood and slapped her sister. “Shut your filthy mouth.” 

“Stop it, all of you!” Melpomene stood up, holding Clio back from attacking her younger sister. “Perry, you've been pretty quiet over there in your corner...”

“Callie...” Perry stood up, looking somewhat afraid. She was the only one of the nine who shared their mother's red hair. “They have a point, Apollo's never cared about our children until now... I mean, we're lucky he never killed them at birth.”

“I don't get what your problem is. I counted the charms on mother's bracelet... The last time I saw it was forty years ago... it has seven more charms now than it did then.... that tells me that these five have unaccounted children.”

“You moron!” Perry snapped. “I've had kids since then! And you know what, probably the one reason Apollo wants to keep track of the kids is so he can use them against us...” She shuffled her feet. “Or at least, against the three of them...” She indicated her blond sisters. “Since... well, you know...”

The door of the room was suddenly flung open and a very out-of-breath Artemis stood there. “Missy?” Cori stood up, frowning. “What is it?”

“Em... emergency meeting....dad's going nuts....” She was more in shock than overtaxed. “Our stupid older brother went and threw rocks at the hornet's nest.”

**

Nate had flat out lied to his friends and his teachers about Heather. He told them she had mono – which was a little more believable than the truth. He'd made up a halfway decent story about one of the guys who visited Bobby Singer having it and a soda-can mix up. Not that to many people were asking about her. The teachers seemed concerned when Tuesday arrived and Heather still hadn't come back to school. He'd at least had the foresight to tell Mr. Singer what he was telling people at school so the two of them were telling the same story. Truth was, Nate was starting to get worried too. He didn't exactly expect the archangel to let Heather send him an email or something... but still...

He dropped his backpack on his desk chair and then fell back on to his bed. Nate was starting to wonder if maybe there was something wrong with him. Seriously – Heather had told him to just drop the subject when he brought up the seeing angels thing. That alone told him that it wasn't something everyone could do. Hell, he should have known that the first time he'd seen Castiel in the church. He sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't even know why he was so damn tired right now. He'd just take a short nap... just until dinner. He didn't have all that much homework...

The dream hit hard, fast and Nate could barely make out a lot of large details. A congregation listening to a woman in a pink sweater that he knew wasn't a woman. A shocked look from one of the people, a shot rang out and he saw a small person – a teenager, maybe – fall. A fraction of a second later, he saw the woman in the pink sweater again... with stark terror in her eyes. 

Nate jerked awake, breathing hard. _What the hell was that?_

*

Thousands of miles away, a small pair of hands, the nails painted in alternating colors of blue and green seized hold of a bare branch of cypress and jerked it clear from the tree. The crack echoed through the still market but the figure seemed unaffected as the hands cleaned off the gnarled branch and then stuck it into the inner pocket of her tan coat. A voice suddenly rang out and she turned as the screaming became more distinct.

_“You there, what are you about, you little bitch? What do you mean, appearing in public in such a manner!”_

The girl titled her head at the man, blinking as if she didn't understand a word he spoke, although she understood perfectly.

The man drew out a long bladed knife and charged over to her. _“You dare stand there in ignorance, you piece of filth?”_ As he raised the knife over his head to bring it plunging down into the girl's chest for breaking a tribal law, he suddenly found his wrist caught in the girl's hand in an iron grip. _“What?”_ His shout brought out others, and now a circle of men surrounded the pair. 

“These affairs have nothing to do with you.” The girl spoke in perfect Arabic, her voice strong and clear. “Turn and return to your homes. Forget what you have seen.”

“Release me!” The man grabbed the girl's hair with his other hand. “You piece of...”

“I did warn you...” The girl said and suddenly her eyes turned blazing and the light spread to fill the entire town square. Screams were cut off into liquid gurgles and several shots rang out. When quiet returned, four of the ten men who'd been standing there were dead. The other six were stricken deaf – and their eyes had burned from their sockets, The girl, however was gone without a trace.


	22. Storm Front

“This is like the world's worst crossword puzzle.” Dean muttered as he scanned the pages of text for about the millionth time. The past few days had been a blur of sorting out the papers they'd copied down from Heather's room. For his part, Dean had been doing his best not to think about what shape the girl might be in when they finally found her. Thankfully, with Nate's help, the guise that Heather was sick kept the school from calling. 

“Yeah... if it was written by Cummings.” Sam muttered and went to refill his coffee mug. 

“Who?” Dean took a swallow of coffee.

“Cummings – he was a poet who always wrote in lowercase letters – he even signed his name that way.” He set the cup down and grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a pen. “That's it...” 

“What is?” Dean stood up and crossed the room to where Sam was sitting, at Bobby's desk. Bobby was out working in the salvage yard – the icy weather had led to a large number of fender-benders, so business for Singer Salvage was actually booming, for a change.

“The fact that there's so few capital letters...” He scrawled down a few letters in the song he was working on and frowned. “Okay... weird...”

“What do you have?” Dean stood up and looked down at his brother's writing.

“Ow, who...” Sam shook his head. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Wait a second...” Dean looked at the lines he'd been working on, the ones that preceded Sam's and scrawled them down. “I've got ut, I and kn....” 

“But I know who, maybe?” Sam look at the phrase. “Guess this means we start at the beginning...” He sorted through the papers looking for the first sheet and scanned it quickly. “Dean...”

“What?” He looked up from the row of letters he'd just copied down from the rest of the sheet.

“I think there may be a message within the message itself...” Sam wrote down the letters on a blank sheet of paper. “The first song on that wall was by The Who... and the first phrase...”

Dean looked down at the sheet and blinked in slight shock as he read. _Dean can you hear me._ “Okay...I think I'm officially creeped out.”

“I think the fact that she worked this all out and was able to get it all up in the time she had is a little more creepy than that...” Sam shook his head. “Makes me wonder which wall I should be paying attention to...”

“Either the East or North...” Dean had gone back to the first set of papers they had copied down, the southern wall, which had had the least amount of writing on it, thus the reason they wanted to start with it originally.

“Why is that?” Sam looked up from his own papers as his brother scribbled down something and turned to him. 

“Because of what's written on the southern window....” He flipped through a few more sheets and scribbled down a few more notes. “Cas I don't know if you can see the changes that have come over me..”

“Wait...” Sam frowned. “You worked that out that quickly?”

“Hey, now that we're looking for just capital letters, this should be fairly easy.” Dean gave a half shrug. “The sooner we work this out, the sooner we can find a way to get Michael out of Heather and things can get back to normal... or at least, normal for us.” He let out a long breath. “You know, if was any other circumstance, I'd be pissed at Heather for what she did...”

“Yeah, dying on the cold Dakota prairie...” Sam shook his head. “I still don't know why the hell the bus makes her walk the distance she does... you'd think she'd just have to walk from the front gate.”

“I know Sammy, doesn't make sense... probably some screwed up budget cuts or something...”

“It's not right.... injured or not, that cold has been pretty brutal...” Sam sat down at the desk and started to copy down all the capital letters he saw. “Maybe that's why she did it...”

“Did what, Sammy?” Dean was busy with his own sheets.

“Talked to Michael... I mean, it's not like there was anyone else for her to really talk with...”

Dean put down his pencil and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I've been trying not to think about it... I'm guessing that him talking to her was the reason that Morpheus didn't need to keep Michael from finding me via dreams.” He moved to scratch the back of his head. “I'm not so much angry with Heather as I am upset...”

“Upset about...”

“That she didn't feel she could talk to any of us... hell, I'm pretty sure she likes you better than she does me...”

“That's not the point, Dean... the point is we weren't here, and she probably figured, given what she knows about hunting that she probably assumed what we were doing were more important than talking to her... or something.”

“and she didn't talk to Bobby because...”

“I don't know Dean... I'm not Heather...” Sam put down his own pencil down and bit at the heel of his thumb. “Which brings up another point that's been bugging me.”

“What's that?”

“When this is all over.... I mean, if we manage to pull of the impossible and save the world... I don't think we can just put Heather back with her old family... an aunt or uncle or whoever she would go live with now that her mom and dad are gone.”

Dean raised his head and rested his arms on the desk. “Somehow, I don't think Bobby's going to want to keep her... and we know what sort of life we live... we know better than to drag her into it.”

“Yeah...” Sam leaned back in his seat. “But we already have.... a lot deeper than we ever planned on.”

Dean looked at his hands for a moment and frowned slightly. “Hey Sam... remember that house outside of Lawrence... that one we went to...”

“What about it?” He looked up in response.

“You think it's still there?” 

“You want to go back... to Lawrence?”

“If it's there... house is technically ours... we could move in... you could finish up your degree at KU...” He got a slight smile on his face.

“You're talking about quitting hunting?” Sam was shocked. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

Dean leaned back in his seat, a dawning look of possibilities spreading across his face. “If we pull this off... I think we'd be _due_ a retirement...”

“You'd never quit hunting... it's too deep in your blood, Dean.” 

He shrugged in response. “It's an idea... or at least... you and Heather could go to Lawrence... something...”

Sam sighed. “Dean...”

“It's just an idea, okay, Sammy?” Dean went back to his papers and slowly, reluctantly, Sam did the same.

**

There was a grand total of thirteen of them. It was so odd, so strange – so wrong to see a band of thirteen pagan gods and goddesses standing in the large hall of Olympus looking like a band of refugees. Gabriel remained perfectly passive and perfectly calm as he counted the ones that had either already been on the run or had managed to be on Earth when Lucifer and a band of fallen angels had engaged in a slaughter that had cleaned out a good majority of the Western pantheons. With the death of Odin _and_ Balder, he knew that the Norse sanctuary was as good as gone. Not that there were many of the Norse left. Those idiots thought they could _negotiate_ with angels... or something. Now, now the ones that were caught outside of their homes had sought refuge with the largest pantheon left. The Greek-Romans. Most of them had been perfectly fine living away from their homes, like Camulus – who until recently, had been living quite perfectly and content in a loft apartment in El Paso, Texas. He looked slowly around the group, half expecting to see Thor, the only remaining Norse who had taken the 'hard' way of survival with the rise of Judaism and Christianity. But the warrior had vanished without a trace over a hundred years ago.

“How do they keep things out of here anyway?” A voice said from next to him and he turned.

“Long story, Aveta. Something with having to be guided in here... not one of us got in through the front or the back door.” He whispered to the goddess sitting next to him – she'd always reminded Gabriel of a mother hen for as long as he'd known her. He adjusted his hold on the dog he was carrying. “At least we all got plenty of warning.”

“No kidding. Guess letting Hera win all those rounds of golf finally paid off.” She sighed and adjusted her seat on her steamer trunk. “It's good of the Greeks to let us in.”

“That's true too... say what you will, speed dial is an amazing thing at times.” He chuckled. “Cam and I were at rehearsal when Clio called us...” He let out a low whistle. “It was a good job that Kokopelli had already told us he wasn't coming...and that the muse was running late.”

“I heard the Eastern Pantheons are bolting themselves in too... is that true?” The goddess smiled and gave the dog a friendly scratch behind the ears.

“Yeah... Kali's pissed...”

“I thought Kali was supposed to be at that meeting.” Aveta fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a piece of deer jerky and gave it to Gabriel's dog.

“Yeah... she said her decision to have lunch beforehand probably saved her life... she said the kicker was that the curry wasn't even that good.” He let out a low breath and was glad that the Hindu goddess had agreed to lay low for a while. The door of the large chamber opened up and slowly their hosts filled out into the hallway. A lot of them passed with barely any acknowledgment – Gabriel could tell that the first ones to pass them were an assortment of demigods who lived with their pagan parents on Olympus, if they hadn't, many would had died their mortal deaths years ago. Hestia came over to them and helped Aveta pick up her trunk and the two of them walked away and shortly after, Ares and Camulus, who were buddies anyway, went off down the steps. 

“I'm taking it your dog is housebroken.” A mild voice came from his left.

Gabriel repressed his smile with indignation. “Of course my dog's housebroken, Mnemosyne...” He inclined his head very lightly. _You're enjoying this, aren't you, Ari?_

 _Damn right I am, Gabe._ Mnemosyne smiled lightly. “Good. I've got some rugs I'm quite attached to.” 

“Mother, are you sure that's a good idea...” A voice came from behind them and they both turned.

“Calliope darling, your mother is quite capable of taking care of herself.” Syne gave the trickster-angel a small smirk. “Besides, given what's about to break loose on Earth, I think me having a guest or two in my home should be the _least_ of your worries, young lady.”

*

The first thing he noticed was a lost painting by Vincent Van Gogh on the wall. It'd probably been purchased when the man was just starting out – because if the art world knew about it, it'd probably be hanging in the Met or the Louvre. It dominated the wall from its spot over the fireplace, the rich blues and greens from the piece giving color to the rest of the room. Gabriel sighed softly and looked at the rest of the furnishings. All of it was high quality, the bed had more pillows than fifteen people would need and, as his dog turned a few circles before settling down before the hearth, he knew the rest of the house was just as well furnished as this. 

Gabriel also knew that if Lucifer now knew the truth about their sister, that put her back on his radar and thus, put all the Muses on it as well. However, Apollo turned out to be just the bastard he remembered him to be and was keeping four of the women – the ones Gabriel guessed were still under his thumb – with him. The remaining five were now living with their mother. The other guest at Mnemosyne's, Claire Novak, was fairly quiet and preferred to spend her time alone in the room she was using. For his first night on Olympus, Gabriel was feeling much the same way. Apparently, one of the few things this pantheon did well was hospitality, although he knew better than to drink the wine in this place. Not that he needed any help in acquiring a damn thing. But Gabriel's also not an idiot – and he can see this nice house for what it really is - 

Nothing more than a beautiful gilded cage his sister has been locked away in for centuries... and Arael knew it.

**

Nate stared blandly at the clock over the chalkboard – occasionally flipping down the date written just below it. March was rapidly approaching and the teachers, while they hadn't said anything, were starting to get concerned about their missing student. Heather had been gone for almost two whole weeks – he'd never known anyone to miss that much school, not even when Luke had his tonsils taken out. He'd still brought the assignments to Mr. Singer's house, acting as if nothing was wrong, other than Heather was stricken with mono. He didn't want to say it, but he was worried too. He'd been scanning the news for unusual things happening – and found a few odd things that for some reason, he felt certain they were connected, even if they had nothing to connect them. A plane crash in Scandinavia, a motel fire back over New Years and the latest, a missing hiker in New Zealand. There was something... something he couldn't put his finger on, but he knew it was important.

“Mr. Turabian, would you care to join us in the real world?” 

He jumped to attention and blinked at the teacher. “What, yes?” He tried not to react as his classmates giggled.

“Would you mind reading the paragraph on page eighty six, top of the page?” 

“Yeah... sure...” He glanced down at his book and cleared his throat, trying to return himself to the real world. “Before the attack on Pearl Harbor, the United States was content to remained isolated from the rest of the world, preferring to watch the events in Europe rather than to interfere...”

*  
“Where has your head been lately, man?” Luke set his lunch tray down on the table with a slight bang. “I swear, ever since Kittredge got sick, you've just been out of it.”

“No, I haven't...” Nate said, poking at a substance that he thought might have been meatloaf once upon a time. “I'm only worried she won't get well in time for us to finish our project for English, that's all.”

“Seriously, have you seen her? Is she really sick?”

Nate tore his roll in half and shoved part of it in his mouth and shook his head as a response. He did not want to go into this, not now.

“I've done a little digging... she's from Indiana, right?” 

Nate nodded and swallowed. “Luke, if this is about how her parents died, just let it rest... she doesn't...”

“It's not her parents!” He hissed and, much to Nate's dismay, drew the attention of the rest of the table. “I found that two days before Kittredge's parents died, she was at some sleep-over thing and the dad in that house killed his wife and two other girls, including his own kid... the guy, Heather and this other girl Beth, were the only people who survived!”

“No way...” This came from Joshua Bradshaw.

“Luke, shut up!” Nate spat out. “That's not the sort of thing to talk about over lunch, or even in public!”

“It was in the news..” Luke pointed out. “Yeah... they're still looking for the guy who torched the Kittredge's house...”

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Nate stood up, drew his fist back and punched his best friend dead in the face. Silence descended on the entire lunch room as Luke sprawled on the floor, the contents of his lunch-tray scattered around him. “I said, _shut up._ ” He turned as sensed the teachers moving towards them. For some reason, the fact that the blow had gotten Luke to shut up – made whatever punishment he was going to get well worth it. 

**  
In one of the trusses of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, Castiel found Melpomene. The two of them were hidden from cars by the deck above them and the only way anyone in a boat could see them was if they came over to the pylon and looked straight up. The angel might not have even thought to look there if he hadn't gotten the barest trace of her presence as he flew away from Vancouver and back towards Sioux Falls. Of course Castiel knew it had to be intentional on her part, with all the angels walking on the Earth, anything that had something to hide knew better than to leave a trail. He didn't say anything for a few moments, he merely stood over the sitting figure, who was resting her hands on her knees, staring past him and into the early morning dawn over Puget Sound. He slowly sank down to a sit opposite of her, resting against the steel pillar that was cold against his back, giving him a slight chill. 

“Castiel, it's cold and I'm hungry... I don't expect you to fully understand either of these things, so why don't you hurry up and ask me what you want to... and then we can both get back to minding our own businesses.” 

“Michael.” Castiel said flatly.

“What about Michael?” Melpomene hugged herself and stretched out her legs. 

“How long has he known about Heather?”

“They really don't tell you much up in Heaven, do they?” She snorted. “You know, if people did their jobs, this is everyone... humans, gods, angels and demons... there wouldn't be the need for contingency plans. You see, if John Winchester had just _told_ Sam and Dean about Adam, the angels would have their damn bloodline insurance because Adam wouldn't have gotten killed by that ghoul. I may or may not have ended up meeting Dean Winchester in Key West, but still... the fact of the matter is, I got used just as much they have been in this whole affair.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Castiel frowned.

“Think about it, Castiel. You know how important bloodlines are for angelic vessels. Think about the children of all the muses. Each and every one of them are immune to countless diseases... all four strains of the bubonic plague, the sweating sickness, cholera... cancer...”

“They aren't immune to infections.”

“I know that.” She shrugged. “Which is what has killed the ones that died in battle of what otherwise wouldn't be lethal wounds... but that's neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is that I was used as bloodline insurance... secondary bloodline insurance at that – if it hadn't been for a certain demon, the honor would have gone to Annie and Sam.”

Castiel frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Something that doesn't concern you. But in answer to your question, yes, Michael knew about Heather. He is the one hid all the records of her... hell, most the angels still don't know who she is.”

“How do you know that?”

“I had a little session with Zachariah a few weeks ago... he still has no clue what's going on. If the situation wasn't so deadly, it would be funny to watch him fly around in circles.” She closed her eyes and leaned back against her pillar. 

“I am sorry.”

“Don't apologize, it's not your fault your former superior is a dick.” She sighed. “You boys need to stop running around trying to look for a way to stop the Apocalypse, because by the time you find one that will work, Lucifer will have turned this planet to ash. I should tell you that there is only one method that can come about without either of the Winchesters saying yes. There's plenty were only one has to give permission...” She shook her head. “But if you want to continue to be stubborn and pigheaded about it, go right ahead...” 

Castiel stood up and stared down at her. “What about the one method that requires neither of them saying yes...”

She didn't shift her gaze from looking out into the Sound, her voice, however, was edged in an emotion Castiel couldn't place. “It's called the unspeakable plan – even Lucifer wouldn't consider it unless he absolutely had too – and if you think it's a good idea, I'll rip your wings off and eat what's left of your grace.”

He stared down at her, horrified. “How... how do you know all this?”

Melpomene looked up at him. “Castiel, you're talking to the lady who had inspired the people behind every disaster book, film... whatever there is...” She stood. “Actually no... that's not it...” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Truth of the matter is.... the rumors are true... he just won't come down to my level and I know better than to try and get on his...”

“You don't mean...” Castiel looked horrified. “I assumed that was nothing more than...”

“Sometimes gossip is more truth that rumor, not often... but it does happen.” She stepped back and leaned against the pillar, folding her arms as Castiel straightened up and moved towards her. 

“I suppose you already have a plan worked out for all of this... you... and...”

“Well, Castiel...” She fixed his mussed coat, as if she was talking to a small child. “Tell you what... how about you go on back to wherever it is you and the Winchesters are hiding... have some coffee, mull it over... and decide if you want to take part in Lucifer's plan, continue to run around looking for a method that isn't there, or join in Team Humanity's plan.”

“Lucifer's plan?” Castiel frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You don't actually think the whole let the devil out of the box was Michael's idea, do you? He doesn't want this any more than you do... but he just happens to be stuck in a rock and a hard place. He'd rather wait for mankind to at least be able to get a little further along in progress... maybe wait until they can leave the planet and get a good distance away or something, I don't know. But like I said, you go on back... think it over...” She stepped away from him, the heels of her shoes starting toward the edge. “But if you can come up with a plan on cramming Lucifer back into Hell without the brothers saying yes on your own, let me know...” She jumped off the girder and vanished, leaving Castiel alone. 

**

On President's Day weekend, something happened in the town of Blue Earth, Minnesota. Things had been strange for the past several months, but this was the first time something like this happened. Ten people of varying ages, were taken from their homes – the youngest was nineteen and the oldest was fifty. The town had been divided for the past few weeks and all ten were on the side that was slowly losing – the winning side claimed that Heaven was on their side and what they were doing was for the good of the town. Now it was looking to be a matter of joining them or suffering a horrific fate. The man standing over a small campfire just on the outskirts had been on the proper side from the beginning. He poked absently at the embers with a stick, waiting for his relief to show up with the Monday morning coffee and perhaps some doughnuts. With all that had become banned in town lately, from beer to premarital sex, caffeine, sugar and nicotine were the only legal vices left. The past week had been rough... the town's Catholic population, which was far smaller than the Protestant Congregations, were almost all on the _other_ side, according to the angels. They were all under house arrest, as were all non-believers in the other Congregations – and there was discussions of moving them all into the Catholic church and locking them down there – they would be easier to control. Two of the other churches – the Episcopalian and the Baptist – had been burned to the ground shortly after Valentine's Day. The Methodist Church was slated to be destroyed next Monday, if the weather permitted. A gasping moan caused the man to turn and glare at the figure behind him. “Aren't you dead yet, you sinful bastard?”

If the boy had any strength left to speak coherently, he might have cursed the man. As it was, the nineteen-year old could only flinch at the other man who used to be his best friend before all this started. 

The man snorted in disgust and went back to the fire. “You'll be warm soon enough...” He didn't look up again until he heard the soft crunch of snow. He frowned at the figure in front of him. “This isn't the place for children, you run along home.” He spoke sharply to the girl in an overlarge coat.

The girl titled her head to the side, looking from one figure to the other. The one before the fire looked warm, well fed and – and his soul reeked of sulfur. Michael had been correct in finding the location of the Whore. She was here, and already had her hooks into many of the residents of Blue Earth. The second man, however – was far worse off. He was was clad only in a pair of pants, the cold Minnesota night had turned his skin a milky shade of white with exposure, his hands and feet were blue streaked with red. He was suspended on a crossbeam of an old billboard that had been hacked away at to reveal the wooden frame. Michael could see the pile of timber to the side, waiting to be fuel for the fire. 

“Is something wrong with your hearing?” The first man spoke again. “I told you to go home.”

Michael stepped forward, closer to the fire. “I do not understand why you have crucified your friend for a crime that you yourself have committed.”

“What?” The man stepped forward, raising his hand to strike the girl. “Filthy liar...” As his hand came down, the girl's own arm shot up to intersect it and the man found it twisted at an angle that was nearly impossible for it to bend in and screamed as he felt the bones snap in half – the pain was so blinding, he didn't know if it was just one or _all_ of the bones in his arm. A second later, he found himself on his knees and suddenly he had a feeling his broken arm was the least of his problems. “What.. who...” He threw his other arm over to try and hit the child, who was somehow holding him down despite the fact he was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. All he got for his trouble was a blinding pain in his other hand.

“Justice.” Was all the girl said before setting her free hand on his shoulder.

The man suddenly felt a horrifying pain grab a hold of his lungs and not let go – it was like his insides were locked in a vise and were in front of a roaring fire... no, they _had_ to be on fire... 

The crucified man could only stare dumbly as his guard, his former friend – his executor - suddenly went up in flames – fire shot out of his mouth, eyes, ears...everywhere. He was terrified as the child calmly stepped away from the burning body and stepped up to the scuttled billboard and calmly climbed up the frame so that she could lift his head to look him in the eyes. “Wh...what...” With one hand holding on to the wood, the girl put a finger to her lips, smiling. 

Michael reached out with the free hand and set it on the man's forehead and gently closed his eyes. “It is time for you to go home – to your rest and to your reward in Heaven.” He pulled the hand back as he felt the man's soul fly free from his battered body and rise up and away into the gray dawn. He slowly climbed down from his perch and set the remains of the billboard ablaze – even though there was much work to be done in Blue Earth, he calmly stood and watched as the flames consumed the body and reduced the empty husk to ashes. Slowly, the flames died and he returned the road to continue his journey towards the town, two miles away. Apparently, they weren't expecting any true angelic visitors... otherwise, they would have warded the town against them.

**  
Nate wrung out the sponge one last time and ran it over the final table in the lunchroom. For the single punch he'd thrown at Luke, he'd landed a week of detention in the form of washing all of the lunch tables, missing the free period. A bit over the top in his opinion – but it sure as hell beat some other punishments that teachers could cook up – like scraping the gum off the bottom of the cafeteria tables or the bleachers in the gym. He'd been under those bleachers recently to retrieve a kickball and it'd been a gum-artwork masterpiece that Jackson Pollack would have adored. Of course, there was also now the wild rumor going around the seventh grade that he liked Heather. Apparently, the 'just friends' line was no longer a valid statement, at least where he was concerned. He picked up the sponge and the spray cleaner and went to the kitchen to put them away. 

The kitchen was still ripe with the smell of overcooked pasta and sour vegetables and Nate managed not to gag at the sight of a massive tray of cauliflower, broccoli and carrots mixed together. That might have been okay... if he'd not seen one of the lunch ladies proceed to drench the contents with nacho cheese from a can. He had a feeling he'd be seeing that tray in decreasing amounts as the week progressed. He set the cleaner and sponge where he'd been instructed to leave it and, after waving to the head of the kitchen, headed for his first afternoon class. For the first time, he managed to arrive at the classroom before the rest of the kids did. He sat down at his desk and rested his head against his arms. His head had started hurting this morning in math class and it'd just been getting worse as the day went by. He slowly lifted his head and glanced at the clock over the chalkboard. For a brief moment, the entire wall changed – he had to shake his head to clear it before the notion of looking at the front of some kind of church gave way to the blackboard and the map of World War II Europe. 

“This... can't be good.” 

**

Castiel wasted no time in bringing the brothers and Bobby up to speed on what Melpomene had told him. The next step, however, was much harder. They all agreed it would be much easier if the muse had just told them the plan so they could form their own from that – none of them were keen on taking sides with them – except for Sam. Sam had been all for asking Gabriel for help back when they still thought he was the Trickster. The fact that one of them would have to say 'yes' – and the more he thought about it, the more Sam realized it would have to be Dean, not him – the more he started to feel guilty. Dean was reeling from the fact that the whole thing with Melpomene in Key West had, in fact, been a set up. For both of them. He didn't know if he should feel indignation or some kind of relief. He was leaning more towards the later. Although, given the fact that this past November, the two of them had slept together again and that _hadn't_ been a set up, more like stress relief. It wasn't like he grew so attached to his one night stands in the first place – except that there was living proof of the first one. Castiel didn't want either of them to say yes, but at the same time couldn't imagine what plan could be so horrible that even Lucifer refused to use it. Bobby was of the same opinion as Castiel.

“So the question is, do we listen and go along with their plan, or still try and find one of our own?” Sam rubbed his eyes tiredly. 

“Who else do you suppose is on this team of theirs?” Dean leaned against the threshold that led to the kitchen, folding his arms. 

Castiel frowned, thinking. “Melpomene said it consisted of a handful of pagans, a few angels and one human.”

“So I'm guessing that's probably her, a few of her sisters, Morpheus, Michael and...” Dean frowned. “I'm willing to bet Gabriel might have joined on that bandwagon as well.”

“It's possible.” Bobby frowned. “I think we may have another problem here as well...”

“What is it?” Sam stood up and went over to the desk.

“Omens... pretty severe ones over in Blue Earth. Cattle mutilations, missing persons, the whole nine yards of the work of demons.” Bobby tossed his pencil down and let out a grunt. “Though what could be in Blue Earth, I have no idea.”

“Can't even remember the last time we were in Blue Earth....” Dean frowned and went to toss his empty beer bottle into the trash. “Been a couple of years, at least.”

“Well, we can't just ignore it...” Sam shrugged. “If it's just demons, then the Colt will work on them.”

“I believe this may be larger than just a few demons...” Castiel was looking over the papers that were spread out on Bobby's desk. “It is worse.”

“What is it, Cas?” Dean came back into the room as the angel straightened up.

“Not what, who.” He looked around to the three of them before answering. “If this research is correct then it's not just demons in Blue Earth.”

“Please don't tell me Lucifer somehow resurrected Lilith.” Sam said.

“No... but this could be considerably worse.” The angel straightened up. “It's the Whore.”

“The who?” Sam and Dean said at the same time.

“Of Babylon?” Bobby asked.

“Yes. I believe she has risen... and has already started her task.”

“Which is?” Dean spoke up.

“To condemn as many souls to Hell as she can. If she has been active as long as this suggests...” He tapped a finger against an article about the Sacrament Lutheran Church. “She is well on her way to dragging the whole town into the Pit – and from Blue Earth, she will move on... to Faribault County, to the state of Minnesota...”

“We get the idea...” Dean said, taking a deep breath. “How do we kill her?”

Castiel frowned. “I do not believe it is possible for any of us to do it... only a true servant of Heaven can kill her.”

Sam straightened up. “Wait...” 

“What is it Sam?” Bobby frowned.

“Well, I think this might answer one question for us.”

“What's that?” Cas said, tilting his head to the side.

“A good idea of where Michael's headed.”


	23. Heading for a Showdown

Michael stood outside of the Lutheran church in Blue Earth, sighing. He'd put Heather so far back in her own mind that it'd be impossible for her to remember any of what was about to transpire. Many of the believers of the Whore were already streaming towards the doors. Some of their souls already reeked of sulfur and damnation, others were merely tainted. If he did not act now,when the sun went down tonight, these followers would pour into the streets, armed with whatever weapons they could lay their hands on; guns, knives, gardening tools and slay the people who had yet to fall under the Whore's spell. This had to be stopped now. The guilty would be punished. The slightly guilty would have the fear of his Father put into them. They would be left to rebuild and to remember the wrath that would be visited upon them this day.

He waited until the church doors shut and then started up the walk. The path was full of salt mixed with sand that crunched under Heather's boots. He entered the church with no problems and stood outside the doors that led to the sanctuary, listening.

“The angels have spoken to me again. They want us to purge the town of the people keeping us from attaining paradise.” The Whore was speaking in such dulcet and calming tones, it was little wonder so many had fallen under her spell. She started listing names and Michael heard gasps through the congregation. “Those that do not stand with us will be purged!” There was a shout followed by a heavy thud. Michael had heard enough.

The doors of the sanctuary blasted open and he stepped into the threshold. _“Liar!”_

To her credit, the Whore only missed a beat when she realized who had walked into her group of followers. “There she is! There is the one who has brought the demons!” The Whore pointed at Heather. “Kill her!”

Gunfire echoed through the church, knocking Michael flat only from having to deflect so many bullets at once. He had been planning on sparing some of the people in this congregation, but now... A person stood next to him, nudged Heather's prone form with his foot.

“I think she's dead.” 

Michael opened his eyes and caught the man by the ankle, rising to an almost kneeling position as fire began spreading through the man's veins and he started to smolder. The doors which had been thrown open slammed shut under Michael's power, holding the followers in. He closed his eyes, bowed his head and kept his concentration. Pure, holy light suddenly filled the church as Michael spread his wings, filling the small space. He heard screams, glass shattering and in the corner of his awareness, heard a reaper comforting the nine innocent souls she had gathered to her. As he opened his eyes and lowered his wings, he saw the Whore crouched down on the front of the altar, glowering at him. 

“Ha! You think you can defeat me in that child's body?” She stood up, swaying on her feet. “You're in a shoddy, weak little vessel, Michael. You're no...”

Michael pulled the cedar stake from Heather's inner coat pocket and shoved it straight into the woman's chest. “Actually, I am.” He pushed the spear deeper into the Whore's stomach and let her body fall. He watched her spasm as she died and he then raised his head to see the pastor of the church lying unconscious on the floor. He walked over to the man and set a hand on his back. “Wake.”

Pastor Gideon had fainted right after the doors slammed open. “What... happened?”

“I am afraid the Devil attempted to take this town from the inside out.” Michael took a deep breath. “I know that not all of your congregation was here this day. The time has come for you to bring the stray sheep back to the flock.” 

The man blinked at him, confused. “I don't understand...”

Michael tilted his head to the side, regarding the man. “You have known for some time that what has been spoken in this house has been false and damaging. Now is the time to repair what can be and rebuild from the ashes.” With a flutter of wings, he left.

Pastor Gideon rose to his feet, looking over the charred remains of the sanctuary and the bodies lying scattered on the floor and pews. The only visible damage to all of them was the fact that their eyes had been burned clean out of their skulls. He swallowed and look at the thing he'd suspected wasn't his daughter Leah for a the past few weeks. The creature that looks like her is lying dead on the floor, a jagged stake of wood embedded in her chest. How was Blue Earth to rebuild from this? How were they to go on? He heard the fumble of the catch on the doors and watched as several members of his church stumbled inside, silenced by the sight that greeted them. Cold wind blew in from the shattered windows, giving the room an out of place scent of snow and clean winter air. 

“What's happened, Pastor Gideon?” A ruddy faced man seemed to be the only one who could find his voice of the group of seven at the back of the church.

The pastor came down the steps of the altar, still taking in the massacre in the room before answering. “A judgment.” He tore his eyes away from the body of the false prophet masquerading as his little girl. Wherever his Leah was, it would be a fair assessment that she was no longer alive. “It is time we went back to the correct path.”

**

They now numbered ten. Jo didn't like to think about what that meant. Now that they were all present and accounted for, she had no idea what Lucifer planned to do with them all. The last one to arrive, a diminutive woman from Romania named Olga, informed them that it was the third week of February. The date held no significance to Jo at all, considering they didn't know how long they would be here or what the hell they were wanted for in the first place. Well, almost no idea...

Other things had started appearing in the rooms now that they numbered ten. Gowns – one stark white and ivory with green embroidery had appeared in the closets – one of each for each of them, all perfectly sized. The food had changed – gone were the heavier dishes – and all of the pork was gone too. Now there was an endless supply of vegetables, fruits, cheese and bread. The only liquor was wine – much to Jo and several others' frustration. The only source of sugar came in the form of honey. She supposed it a was a good job those of them that drank coffee already drank it black. Jo had a feeling that other things were going to start vanishing from the room shortly. Like them.

Rolling over in her bed, she looked into the other room where a few of the newer girls were trying to break the language barrier. As for herself, Jo was to worried about what was going to happen to them all to go and join in the fun. She saw Astrid turn her way and then stood to come and join her. “Great...” She mumbled to herself as the slightly taller woman came into her room.

“You are worried.” Her English was better than some of the others were. “I too, am worried.”

Jo sighed and rested her head on her arms, hiding her face. “I've been thinking – there has to be something that we all have in common – apart from being female.”

Astrid shook her head. “I do know that none of us are married, but that isn't much more than the obvious.” She sat down next to her. “I've also heard some of the others talking... I don't think all of us are virgins.”

Jo looked the blond woman over. “Excuse me?”

The Scandinavian woman sniffed. “Well, I do know that Olga is – until recently, her life was nothing but gymnastics... she's never had a boyfriend.”

She shook her head. “I just don't get it... I mean, we're all different types of....” Her voice cut off as she started thinking the other girls over. “So we could say that Olga is the sweet, innocent type.”

“Yes.” Astrid frowned. “What does that have to do...”

“And Maria is the smart, studious type...” 

“And you would be the...secretly badass type?” Jo had told the woman about monster hunting.

Jo chuckled. “Exactly – just like you would be the bold and adventurous type.”

“I fail to see how being a pilot for traders makes me...” Astrid cut off and then looked abashed. “All right, I see your point. What does all that mean?”

“This is going to sound insane but uh... what if the types of women we are could be combined into one person?”

The woman's eyes widened. “Is that possible?”

“Given some of the shit I've seen, I'd say it's a definite possibility.” She brushed her fingers through her hair. “If someone was sweet, smart, adventurous, friendly, liked to cook, loved kids and was a pretty face all on top of that – what would you have?”

“Someone I'd like to punch in the face.” Was Astrid's flat reply.

“Well, besides that.”

“A perfect person – a perfect woman.” The blond's face darkened. “So in other words, one of us...”

“Is headed straight for Stepford Wifedom and the rest of us are dead meat.”

Astrid glanced up at the ceiling. “I don't suppose we've tried the vents to get out of here yet, have we?”

“As good of an idea as that is – given that we don't know where _here_ is, I think it's a moot point.”

“True – for all we know, we're in the middle of Siberia.”

“And it's winter.” Jo sighed. “I don't think we're going to be here much longer anyway.”

“How much longer do you think we have?”

“A few weeks, at best – an equinox is coming up. Not as good as a solstice for doing something nefarious – but still good.” Jo stood up. “I need to eat something. You hungry?”

“Yeah.” The woman rose and the two left the room, moving to join the others.

**

“So you think Michael and Heather went to Blue Earth to kill the Whore?” Dean stared at his brother. “That can't end well.”

“Not for the Whore.” Castiel said flatly. “Michael may be contained in a smaller vessel, but he does retain all of his power.” 

“I meant for Heather.” Dean shook his head. “Is she like, awake in her body or what?”

“I don't believe she is.” Cas frowned and was about to speak again when a crash sounded from outside, drawing the attention of all three hunters and the angel. “What...”

“That sounded like something just landed on a car.” Bobby frowned, rising to the window, opening it slightly and scanning the yard. “It's not hailing but.... what the hell?” 

The others joined him and they watched as a figure stood up on the top of a partially crushed mini-van that was at the end of a double-decked railing and jumped the thirty foot drop to the ground as if it was only two. As they drew closer, they were able to make out a coat that was very white – and a shock of red hair. 

“That's not...” Sam frowned. “Who is that?”

Castiel tilted his head, rather surprised. “It's Mnemosyne.” 

“And she would be here, _why_?” Dean interjected.

“I am not certain.”

“Is she dangerous?” Bobby was still watching as the woman approached the house, pausing several yards away, either unable to approach it any further, or trying to figure out how best to enter. 

“I do not know.”

“Good morning.” The goddess's voice called across the ground. “I don't wish to intrude, but do you mind if I come closer?” 

The four looked at each other and then Bobby spoke. “You askin' for an invitation?”

She smiled in response and a moment later, was standing next to Sam, causing the hunter to jump back slightly. “No, I just usually like to warn people before I do that.” She arched an eyebrow at Dean, who on instinct, had pulled out his gun and had it pointed at her. “And that won't do you any good.” 

“Why are you here?” Castiel seemed to have recovered first from woman's appearance. 

“Didn't you understand when Penny told you that time is running out?” She made a disgusted noise. “Michael's already left Blue Earth, he and Heather are off smiting demons, Lucifer is tearing his way through what's left of the pantheons of the Aztecs and other Native American tribes who didn't have the sense to run and hide. You four seem to think this is a party that doesn't have an arrival time on the invite, or if it does, it is free to interpretation.”

“Well then...” Dean stepped closer to her. “Why don't you get off your ass and help us?”

“Dean, she is here.” Sam put in. “That is why you're here, right?”

“Very good Sam. And for the record, you are on my list of favorite freaks.” She put her hands into the pockets of her coat.

Bobby snorted. “Now I know where Heather gets that personality of hers.” He took breath. “Don't suppose you have a plan, do you sweetheart?”

“Well, there's more than one way to foil an Apocalypse.” She stuffed her hands in her coat pockets. “We have until the twenty-seventh of March to get everything in place.”

“What's the twenty-seventh of March got to do with anything?” Dean interjected.

“That's when Lucifer is planning on opening the door into Elysium. It's his first chance to do it. He's got most of his ducks in a row.” She started to pace. “Unfortunately, who he's looking for isn't in there.”

“Who is he looking for?” Sam asked.

“Persephone. She's not there, she's in Purgatory or the Oblivion, either place, I don't care, she's an unfaithful cow. But there's something else in Elysium that we don't want Lucifer getting his hands on.”

“What's that?” Castiel could tell that neither he or the hunters liked where this was going.

“Something that exists for one purpose and one purpose only – something to wash the planet as clean as it was after the Flood.” She saw the reactions in their faces. “Not exactly something you want getting out.”

“No.” Sam swallowed. “I – does the whatever it is get out automatically? I mean, if you open the door to Elysium?”

“Thankfully not. Normally Elysium only lets those it wants inside in – but if someone with access says so, someone without can enter.” She leaned against Bobby's desk, watching the four of them. “We know when and where he'll open the door.”

“Tell me there's a point to all this.” Dean said, frowning.

“Yes. If we have the four rings of the Horsemen, we can open a gate into Lucifer's Cage. Open both places at the same time and it'll be like a system restore – provided Lucifer hasn't possessed Sam yet. Everything gets restored to default. Crazy, I know...”

“How exactly does that work?” Sam looked from her to his brother. “Setting things right?”

“I don't know how it works.” She tapped the side of her head. “I just know it _does_ work.”

“Let me guess – you remember how it works.” Bobby shook his head. “Don't suppose you know what's up with the missing women too?”

“You didn't put it together when I told you about Persephone?” She rolled her eyes. “If he's going to try and get a life-force, he's going to need a body to put it in.”

“That's just...” Sam started to say.

“I know, I know.” Mnemosyne sat down on the edge of the desk. “There is, however, one problem with the plan.”

“I've still got to say yes.” Dean swore. “It's just...”

“That's not going to happen.” Castiel added.

“Are you two lovebirds or something?” She rubbed her face. “Look, the thing about that whole opening up the portals thing is – when that system restore hits, it'll get anything that's not where it's supposed to be to where it is.”

“So what, open the doors and Michael gets sucked into Elysium? No loss there.” Dean snorted.

“Not without killing Heather in the process.” Bobby spoke up, having retreated to the bookshelves and he set the tome he had been flipping through on his desk. “Possibly.”

“How exactly...” Sam started to say.

“A body is a shell.” Castiel said, flatly. “A shell for the soul inside.” He glanced at the goddess. “I'm contained in a vessel – along with a soul. The body belongs to the soul. I'm not a high enough ranked angel to have only a true vessel. I could, in theory, take a vessel from any person with Novak blood.”

“And that makes you what, exactly?” Dean frowned at her.

“The last Titan standing.” She sighed and looked over her shoulder at Bobby. “You mind if I made some coffee?”

The grizzled hunter stared at her. “Long as you do it under supervision.”

“Sure.” She slid off the desk and headed for the kitchen – knowing Sam would be right behind her.

*  
Nate set his helmet down on the back of his four wheeler and hauled his backpack off the rack. He looked up at the house in the salvage yard, sighing. Another day of dropping off homework for someone who wasn't here. He hurried up the steps and knocked. “Hello?” He peered through the glass and a moment later, the taller of the two brothers answered the door. “Hi – Sam, right?”

“Nate.” He stepped aside to let him in. “Heather's still not back.”

“I sort of figured.” He glanced past the man into the kitchen. “Who's that?”

Mnemosyne looked up from her coffee mug. “I'm a friend of a friend of a friend of Cas's.”

“Really?” He smirked. “I was going to guess you're Heather's mom.” He shrugged and opened his bag to pull out a manila folder. “You haven't heard from her, have you?”

Sam took the folder and shook his head. “No.”

Mnemosyne took a sip of coffee, shaking her head. “She'll be back soon.”

“You seem pretty sure of that.” Sam replied. “I don't think so.”

“I think so too.” Nate came over to the table, looking down at the woman. “You said you're not Heather's mom... but even I can tell you've got the same color hair and eyes.”

The Titan looked from the boy to the hunter before responding. “Sam, how much does Nate here know?”

“How much does he know about what?” He folded his arms and shot a glance into the library, where Dean, Bobby and Cas were watching them.

“You know what.” She responded before taking another drink from her mug.

“Will someone just please tell me what the heck is going on?” Nate almost shouted. “The teachers keep asking me how sick Heather is, if she's bad enough not to come to school but not sick enough for the hospital. Some of them think she's had a nervous breakdown and is down in that mental hospital in Topeka!”

“Nathan, you best sit down for this.” Mnemosyne indicated the chair across the table from her and it scooted outward for him.

**  
Gabriel sat at the long table in his sister's house, staring down at the ring in front of him. Pestilence's ring. He had taken it from the horseman at the Niveus Center in California. He frowned, wondering if his older brother had stopped his pantheon slaughter enough to figure out what was going on. For his part, Gabriel had taken the ring from Pestilence, who had been getting ready for the testing of a 'vaccine' of the swine flu. Since FDA regulations wouldn't just let them distribute the vaccine without testing, the test group was going to be the first group to get a strain of the Croatoan virus with a slightly longer incubation period. By the time they were fully infected, they would have already spread the illness to thousands unknowingly. Or they would have – had Gabriel not sent the horseman back to Hell and then burned every trace of the illness away. 

He only had two problems now. One, he was stuck here on Olympus – Zeus had allowed him and the other pagans to stay here on the condition they could not leave – and his second problem was not knowing who was safe on the other side of the world. Gabriel was fairly certain Kali was fine, he'd told her to hide and stay away from Lucifer, but she was the most stubborn goddess he'd ever met, so he wasn't certain if she'd stay put or not. 

“You trying to burn a hole through the wood?” A voice broke into his thoughts. “My mom will freak out if she comes back and finds you've damaged her favorite table. I mean, she won it in a poker game from some English lord who got it from Henry VIII. I don't know where he got it from though.” A tired figure slid into the chair across from him. “But odds are, you already knew that.”

Gabriel sighed. “Good morning, Penny.” He slid the ring into his pocket. “Do you know where your mother went?”

“She went to go see an old hunter about a Plymouth, I think.” She slid a hand through her hair, sitting so she could rest her chin on her knee. “She should be back shortly.”

“This is just...” He folded his arms and leaned back slightly in his seat. “I hate getting involved and now that I am involved, I hate having to stay out of it.” 

“Welcome to my life for the past four centuries.” Melpomene rolled her eyes. “At least you don't have to go to a watch party and pretend to be upset that you're not actually at the Oscars.” She made a sound like she was disgusted. “I haven't enjoyed going to that event since actors and actresses became political commentators.” 

“That is one thing all pantheons seem to have in common. No-one seems to be in charge of politics directly.” Gabriel smiled weakly. “When this is over, I may just have to go on a demon smiting spree.”

She let out a weak laugh. “Loki, find me the demon who made the deal with Meyer, and I'll give you a favor, maybe two...”

He thought for a moment, “I can't believe I didn't know that. Then again, I don't spend much time around those sorts of... sparkly vampires...” He shook his head.

“Then again, the Alpha of the vampires is offering a similar deal. My only deal to sweeten the pot is to rig a sporting event as well.” Her head fell back against the chair. “I don't like this waiting either.”

“So I take it you're more or less grounded as well.” He leaned forward onto his arms, resting them on the table.

“Something like that. Callie's being a pain, she went and whined to daddy, and well, she's one of the few who can do that and get what she wants.” She sighed. “The only one who can pull that off that looks like him is Thea Missy.” 

“If you're all grounded, why isn't Erato here?” Gabriel felt like that was a sensible question.

“Because Atty's not on the radar,” the muse stood and stretched. “You want to play a board game?”

“No.” He snorted. “I think I'll sit here and work on burning that hole into the table.” He let out a breath. “I don't mean to be rude, but I have a lot on my mind and a board game isn't going to help.”

“You think I don't?” Her voice went up an octave. “In case you've forgotten, your big brother is currently possessing _my_ daughter.” 

“I know that!” Gabriel snapped and he stood up. “I just want this to be over!”

“We all want that!” She held her arms out. “But for some reason, Dean Winchester had to be among the most stubborn men ever put on the face of the earth! Maybe if Zachariah wasn't such a dick, he could have explained everything to him in a better way and it never would have gotten this far!”

“I don't want to argue with you!” He gripped the chair to keep himself from throwing something. “I just...”

“Are you two going to kill each other? Let me know if you are, cause I want to get popcorn before I watch.” A new voice cut into the conversation.

“Not today, Clio.” Melpomene took a deep breath. “Sorry about that.”

“It's okay. I heard the shouting and came up – Annie and I are getting ready to insult some movies not connected to us.” Clio smiled weakly. “We've got ten gallons of kettle corn, if you care to join in.”

“That could be fun.” The younger muse's shoulders fell slightly with the release of tension. “What are you starting off with?”

“The egregious insult to the book series that is _Percy Jackson_.” She rolled her eyes slightly. “Riordan might be one of my little darlings but even I was appalled at what Disney did to it.”

Gabriel looked from one woman to the other, frowning. “You say that like you're surprised.”

“Oh this is going to be a good time.” Clio came over to the two of them, put her arms around their shoulders and led them out of the room. 

**  
Nathan returned home feeling drained. He had just found out his biological mother was Urania, the Muse of Astronomy. Heather was his biological cousin – and that was just the light stuff. His biological father died when he was four years old. The world was racing towards the Apocalypse and only certain people knew about it. 

It sort of made the math test looming at the end of the week seem like nothing. 

After lying in bed for at least an hour and a half he got up, turned on his computer and settled into his desk chair. He had no idea what Urania looked like, or even if any portrait was accurate – he didn't even know how he was going to bring all this up with his parents. But there was one other thing he gotten from Mnemosyne – another name. He felt that the way she barely said it made him think she hadn't meant to say it – if she hadn't been distracted at all, she probably wouldn't have. 

He clicked onto Firefox and then went to Google and typed in the name of his biological father.

_Jason Irvine_

He scanned the list of links, almost all of them about the September 11 attacks when he was four. He shook his head, figuring there had to be more than one Jason Irvine in the world and hit the 'Images' tab. The first row of pictures made his mouth fall open. There was a man who had his cheekbones, his smile, his nose – not the same hair, Jason's was darker and curlier, his expression bright. Nate enlarged the one image of what had to be the Irvine family and scanned them. None of them had his blond hair, his ears, his coltish stature. He thought about the woman at the salvage yard, with her red hair and bright blue eyes – so much like Heather, it was sort of scary. The girl herself, however, bore a strong resemblance to Dean Winchester – her biological father.

Nate shook his head to clear it, shut down his computer and went to his work desk. He picked up the action figure he'd been repainting into Challenger Green for the shadowbox, uncapped the paint jar and let himself get lost in his work.

**  
Michael sat, perfectly perched and invisible to the human eye on the Sherman-Milton Bridge over the Ohio River. Louisville was to his left and New Albany to his right. Below him, the vague feelings of the humans passing in the cars below drifted up towards him. Commuters, for the most part, people worried about reports, meetings, bills – the mundane things of human life that weren't all that different from an angel's – if angels had to use monies to pay for their debts, instead of with prayers or charity work. He let out a breath, resting Heather's hands on the icy metal, wondering how much longer this was going to go on.

He knew he would have to take Heather home soon – he couldn't carry on in the girl's body like this. Or rather he could, but the girl's fragile body couldn't take it for much longer. If Dean didn't say yes, he would have to resort to more drastic measures if they had any hope of winning. He was about to rise and head southward, to Texas after a minor demon when a flash of grace echoed to his right. 

It wasn't in New Albany, it was further north. He stood, frowning. An angel, one from Heaven, had just headed to one of the places that was on a no-fly zone. 

“That idiot.” Michael growled and raced away from the bridge, heading for the suburb of Indianapolis called Cicero. 

*

Lisa Braden hadn't believed in monsters until her son had been switched with a changeling and Dean Winchester had told her the truth of what he really did. She hadn't given much thought of it since then, other than odd stories on the news would make her wonder from time to time. Like the massive explosion in Pontiac, Illinois that had uprooted dozens of trees yet let no trace of fire or cause. The teacher who went psycho and killed a bunch of students – things that her inner voice told her weren't normal. She would then wonder if Dean knew anything about it, if Dean was on the case, or if it was some other hunter.

She never told Ben about the rest of the monsters. It was bad enough he'd already gotten up close and personal with them once, she didn't need for it to happen again.

“Mom?” Ben came into the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Ben.” She shook her head and turned the stove on. “How was school?”

“It was okay, I guess. The art...” His next words were cut off as a middle-aged man in a suit appeared out of thin air next to fridge. 

Lisa shoved her son behind her and grabbed the knife she had been using to chop vegetables a moment ago. “Who are you? What do you want?”

In response, the man waved his hand and Lisa flew across the room, slamming into the fridge.

“Mom?” Ben ran to his mother, who was struggling to sit up. “What did you do to my mom!” He screamed.

“Just come along and no one will get hurt, Ben.” The man replied, his jovial tone far to out of place for the situation.

“What...” Lisa coughed, alarmed by the fact that she could barely feel her legs – not a good sign. “Who...”

“Zachariah.” A fourth voice caused Ben to shift his gaze from the man for a second and he started. The newcomer was a girl, a little older than him.

“Michael.” The man, Zachariah – paled slightly. “It's good to see you, and I was just...”

“You were just what?” The girl stalked towards him, the man suddenly looking afraid. “I thought my instructions to leave this woman and her child alone were clear.” 

“Who... who are you people?” Lisa gasped out. 

“I was thinking...” The man was going whiter by the minute. “I mean...”

The girl said nothing and crossed over to Zachariah, setting her hand on his arm. A moment later, he gasped and then his face went gray – a moment later, flames shot out of his mouth and eyes, causing Lisa to choke on a scream and then tighten her grip on Ben. The man crumbled to ashes on the floor of the kitchen and then the girl turned towards them.

“Don't... please...” Lisa was trapped. “Run, Ben....”

“I'm not going to leave you mom.” Ben swallowed as the girl crouched down and then gave them a sad smile. 

“Sorry about the mess.” The girl – Michael? - reached out and set a hand on Lisa's shoulder, and she flinched, expecting pain, but to her surprise, it was gone – even the niggling pain from yoga was gone from her arms. The girl looked over at Ben, smiled and then ruffled his hair. “Adelfí̱.”

And then she was gone.

“Mom?” Ben swallowed and helped her stand. “What...what was that?”

“I... I don't know.” She crossed over to the stove and turned it off. She was about to do something she'd sworn she wouldn't – no matter how crazy things got on the news, she had never wanted to do it, but now – now it looked like she needed to. “Go upstairs, pack a bag. Few changes of clothes, just enough for a few days. Okay?”

“Mom?” He swallowed. “What's going on?”

“I... we need to go to Dean's friend's house. He'll be able to help us.” She tried not to look at the pile of cinders on her kitchen floor. “Just to make sure everything's safe, that's all.”

“Are... do you think those things are coming back?” Ben didn't like to think about his time with the changelings – truth was, it still gave him nightmares at times.

“I don't know. But if anyone can help us, they can.” She started to straighten up the kitchen. “We're going to leave in an hour.”

“Yes, mom.” He turned and ran up the stairs to his room.


	24. Within A Mile From Home

Mnemosyne quietly came into her home, finally understanding just how stubborn the Winchesters were. They still weren't completely on board with the plan to let the two portals open at the same time and restore the system, as it were, but compared to a host of other options, it was starting to look more and more favorable. However, they still wanted to do things on their terms. She sat down in chair next to the fire, rubbing her eyes.

“Told you they were Chuckleheads.” Gabriel's voice came to her from the other seat near the fire.

“I was hoping you were kidding, Gabby” She sighed. “I had to get back here before I was missed.” She toed off her shoes and curled up in her seat, feeling her age. “I just hope Erato can manage.”

“Please don't call me Gabby...” Gabriel ran a hand through his hair. “How does she stay off the radar anyway?”

“Bigger fish to fry and no one around here worries about her causing trouble. If she and Melpomene didn't look so much alike, I'd have trouble believing she's one of the girls.” She shook her head. “Anything happen around here?”

“Not that I noticed. Is it always so quiet?” He unwrapped a Snickers bar.

“Well, the Olympics and Mardi Gras recently ended – most of everyone is asleep, nursing hangovers.” She hugged her legs, watching the fire. “It's not going to be easy to smuggle people in and out of here soon. Thankfully, I don't think Lucifer's going to be storming the gates of Olympus any time soon.”

“I think that's because he doesn't know who here is your friend and who isn't.” Gabriel snorted and bit into the chocolate bar. “I did manage to get out of here, get Pestilence and get back in all while you were gone.”

She smirked. “Sure you did, Loki. Who'd you get a piggyback ride from?”

Gabriel's smile fell a fraction. “Uh...” 

“The man with the funny leg?” She grinned. “Don't worry, I won't rat you and Hephaestus out.”

His smile slowly returned. “If I had known how good he was at slaying demons, I'd have started hanging out with him a long time ago.” 

“He does like a good fight every now and then.” She leaned her head back. “What else did you do while I was gone? I don't suppose you made dinner.”

It was the archangel's turn to laugh. “No. Sorry.” He stood and stretched. “I'm sure I can whip up something... did you know that Claire Novak is over at Artemis's home?”

“I did.” She got up out of her seat. “I'm not worried about that. Missy knows better than to do something she shouldn't. Not to mention there's only three males allowed into her residence – and her twin brother isn't one of them.”

Gabriel went over to the table. “That reminds me, why haven't you killed Apollo yet?”

“As soon as I figure out how to break the bond he's still got with four of my daughters, he's going to be a pile of cinders.”

He caught the tone in her voice and arched an eyebrow. “I've got a warehouse you can borrow.”

“Oh, Gabriel, you are such a sweetheart. Always have been” She pinched his cheek and walked past him. “I really should have invited you over for tea more often.”

**  
Bobby frowned at the woman sitting stock still at the head of his kitchen table, her eyes closed, save for two small slits that blazed blue. He supposed the irksome thing was that he couldn't tell if she was sleeping or doing something else at the moment. He shook his head and went back to making coffee. He had been up most of the night thinking about what the Titan had told them yesterday afternoon. While he didn't like the idea of either of the boys saying yes, he knew that time was running out and honestly, they had to do something before things worse. He flipped the radio on, muttering to himself.

_“The fire that blazed all night at the Niveus Center for Disease Control has finally been extinguished. The center was getting ready for the first clinical trials of a Swine Flu vaccine when the fire broke out. The death toll stands at seventeen, with four still unaccounted for.”_

Bobby sighed. “More bad news...”

“Good news.” The woman replied and he turned towards her.

“How the hell was that good news?” He snorted, not wanting to have an argument before he had coffee in his system.

“That wasn't a swine flu vaccine. It was the Croatoan Virus.” Erato stood and stretched. “Where's there's disease, there's Pestilence.” She shrugged. “Or rather, there _was_ Pestilence.”

“And you would know this because?” The hunter asked. “All you creatures have one another on speed dial, or something?”

“Of course not. The reason I know this is because Death told me. It won't be too much longer before Lucifer binds Death to him, and I just happened to be on the channel, so to speak.” She ran a hand through her hair. “While I am sorry for the humans who have lost their lives, given the disasters I have seen...”

Bobby held up his hand. “I know where that's going, you don't have to to elaborate.” He got out a mug. “Let me guess – worst disaster you've seen was the Black Death.”

“No, The Flood. Ask the angel, he'll probably give you the same answer.” She leaned against the chair. “I know you don't approve of me being here, Mr. Singer. Quite frankly, I'm not to happy to be here myself.” She sighed.

“You got that right.” He took a drink from his mug. “Yer mom sure puts up a good argument, I suppose. Guess it does feel like we're getting nowhere fast, sometimes.”

“Oh, if she had wanted to win the argument, she would have.” The muse shook her head. “Believe me.”  
She frowned as Dean came into the kitchen. “Good morning sunshine.”

“I'm not your son and my name's not shine.” Dean grumbled as he headed for the coffee pot. “Sam's gonna be down in a few.” He poured himself a cup of the brew. “Anything happen in the world?”

“Well, apparently Pestilence is dead.” Bobby sat down at the table. “According to Atty here.”

Dean looked over his mug at the muse. “That true?”

“If there's one thing Death isn't, it's a liar.” She returned to her seat. “If you don't want to believe me...”

Castiel walked into the room. “I don't think they need me to confirm it, Erato.” The angel went and stood against the fridge. “You are aware that we have...”

The muse snorted and rolled her eyes. “Angels. Always have to have the last word. Even if they're as wrong as spandex.”

Dean had to cover his mouth to prevent coffee from spewing everywhere and he hacked twice. Bobby, who hadn't had a mouthful of coffee, gave a slight chuckle. “Wish all you pagans were so damn funny.”

“I fail to see the humor in the situation.” Castiel replied.

“The things you fail to find the humor in Castiel, would fill several warehouses.” Erato stretched her arms over her head. 

Dean took a more steady sip of coffee. “Enough with the comedy.” He shook his head. “So you have Pestilence's ring, and since you know Death, probably not a problem to get his.”

“How astute.” She rubbed the back of her head. “But even then... still a lot of things to set up.”

Castiel frowned. “I don't suppose you know where the women who vanished are.”

“Morpheus is still trying to find them. It's not exactly easy to find a handful out of four billion.” She frowned. “Well, more like several hundred million, but you get the picture.” She rested her head on her hand as Sam came into the kitchen. “But I'm of the opinion that they're somewhere in the same time zone to where Lucifer wants to open the portal.”

“Which is still pretty big.” Dean said as Sam got a cup of coffee and joined them at the table.

“Do you know how many have gone missing?” Bobby asked.

“Ten. And odds are, that's all he's taking.” She answered as Sam took a drink from his mug. 

“Is Lucifer still unaware that Persephone is not in Elysium?”

“Well, I wouldn't put him past busting a hole into Purgatory to double check she's not there.” She sighed. “Of course, you go into Purgatory, you deal with Eve and the Leviathans and that's just mess that makes demons look like child's play.”

Castiel frowned. “I do not believe Lucifer would be so foolish.”

“Desperate times, desperate measures.” Sam muttered and rubbed his temple. “I'm still trying to figure out what you're doing here.”

“Provide answers, scenarios... fill in the blanks.” Erato glanced over at Castiel. “You have something you want to share with the class?”

“I have been trying to figure something out since your mother's visit here the other day.” The angel's eyes narrowed. “And why she is still alive, when all the other Titans are believed to be dead.”

“Castiel, I am older than you – by a few dozen years, at least. You ever think that maybe, just maybe, not everything you heard about the pagans is true?” 

“I am only curious, Erato, because until recently, Mnemosyne, your mother was quite timid.” The angel's face remained perfectly passive.

“My mom doesn't like to draw attention to herself. She tries to avoid confrontation, if it all possible.” She sighed. “As for timidity... that's her defense mechanism.”

“It seems to be a pretty good one.” Bobby frowned as they heard a car rumble into the drive. “We expecting anyone?”

“Not that I'm aware of.” Dean said, rising to his feet and going to the window. “Indiana plates...” His breath left him. “Shit.”

“What is it?” Sam rose and joined his brother. “Is that?”

“Yeah. It's Lisa.” Dean had a feeling things were about to get much, much worse.

**  
Claire Novak wanted to go home. It wasn't that she disliked being here on Olympus, it was just – she needed to see family again, to let them know she was all right – they had to be looking for her – or something. She wasn't sure if she was still in danger or not, no one was really big on giving her answers. 

She stretched her arms over her head and looked around the room. Unlike the room across the way, her room here in this temple was simple – college dorm meets World Market. The lofted bed was low enough she could sit up in bed, but high enough it required a ladder. There were framed posters advertising the Olympic Games in Moscow, Paris, Squaw Valley and Montreal. There were more of those high windows that you couldn't see out of unless you stood on something, and the walls were done in a pale green color. Sighing, she climbed down from the bed and almost instantly, the wiry greyhound that had taken up residence on the rug in the middle of the room trotted over to her. She gave the dog an affectionate rub behind the ears. “Morning, Knightly.” She stuffed her feet into her slippers and stepped out into the hallway. 

The dog stepped around her and raced downstairs and a moment later, she heard him bark as he joined the rest of the pack.

“Morning, Claire.”

She turned. Artemis was standing there, looking rather bedraggled – if she hadn't known better, Claire might have thought she was at a slumber party. “Morning.” 

“Knightly seems to have taken a liking to you.” She smiled and they went into the kitchen. “Silly dog.”

“It's sort of funny... I never had a pet, except for a goldfish I won at a carnival when I was seven.” She got out a box of cereal. 

“Perhaps he can go with you, when you go home.” The goddess sat down and began to peel a grapefruit. “I certainly wouldn't object.”

“But he's _your_ dog.” Claire stated. “I mean, aren't you attached...”

“I love all my pets equally, Claire. Now, if you didn't or couldn't take him, that's one thing, but what if you did and could? Would you leave him here or take him along?” 

“I don't know.” She frowned. “I don't want to say he's just a dog, but...”

“I understand.” She smiled and turned her attention to her fruit. “What were you thinking of doing today? More schoolwork?”

“I want to keep on top of things, so most likely I will.” She paused. “Do you know how long I've been here? Time still tends to run together.”

“It's the second of March.” She split the grapefruit open.

“So around two months.” She poked at the cereal. “I don't suppose you know how much longer I'm going to be staying.”

“If all goes well, just until the end of the month.” She gave her a half smile. “It'll all work out. As they say, this too will pass.”

Claire bit back her retort. Knowing that the girl across from her had seen the world fall apart who knew how many times – she probably was the expert on waiting for things to end. She poked at her cereal. “Has it ever been worse than this?”

Artemis nodded sagely. “I've seen much worse. The waiting, my dear Claire, is the worst part of anything like this.”

**  
Heather was vaguely aware that she and Michael were sitting indoors. The glorious smell of grilling and deep frying food penetrated her mind a little more than their actual location. She had the notion they weren't near the door and that they were sitting next to a large window. The next thought that came to her mind was that she hadn't been carrying more than six dollars when she left school the day she said yes.

_“Don't worry – we'll have enough to pay for a meal.”_

Michael's voice, still sounding like Dean's, rooted her more in reality. 

“How? Did you pick up some extra cash while I was out of my mind? And why are we eating anyway? You don''t need to eat!”

Michael chuckled. _“Something like that. As for eating – while I may not need sustenance, you do. I'm afraid I've been neglecting that need for a long time. Were you an adult, this would not be an issue.”_

Heather became a little more aware of where they were, the low lighting and the décor told her that she had to be in someone's idea of Bavaria. A really good interpretation, if such things could be judged. The menu was hard for her to read, and she blinked a few times, and then realized why. The menu was in German. She tried not to panic when she heard her own voice, speaking flawlessly order something called Jager Schnitzel and salad of mixed greens. _“Guess that means this is authentic Bavaria.”_

 _“We're in Strasbourg, to be exact.”_ Michael sighed. _“We'll be heading back to the States soon. Do you remember much of what's been happening?”_

“ _Bits and pieces – nothing comes in very clear.”_ She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking around at the people in the establishment, their conversations as hard to make out as her own memories of where all she had been in the past – however long it had been. _“Did we... destroy a city at some point?”_

 _“It wasn't really a city, more of a town.”_ Michael sighed inside her head and she had the feeling that the angel hadn't exactly relished what he'd done. _“I can never remember what qualifies for a town and what makes a city. It was destroy everything or let it be overrun with demons and hell hounds. It was only four thousand people. The demons were going to infect people with Spanish Influenza and then spread the illness across the globe. The last time that illness was unleashed, it killed twenty million people.”_

 _“Four thousand is a lot, Michael.”_ She looked up as the salad was placed in front of her and she thanked the server, and took a welcome sip of strong coffee. “ _Where was that?”_

 _“India.”_ A pause. _“And you didn't destroy the city, I did. Those deaths are not on you.”_

 _“Well, it'll be my nightmare.”_ The salad tasted amazing and her stomach rumbled in welcome as she ate. _“We're going to Memphis, aren't we?”_

 _“Yes.”_ The angel fell quiet.

After a few minutes and the rest of the world shifted into a clearer picture. Heather could make out some conversations a little clearer, but nothing distinct. There was music coming from somewhere and as the sound cleared, the sense of smell came back and it was almost overpowering. Onions, garlic, butter – potatoes and that all-encompassing scent of decently fried food almost made her sink back into her chair at the overload. Combined with the sharp taste of the vinegar based dressing on her salad of spinach and arugula, she wondered if it was possible to pass out from what she was feeling. It was then she became aware of the fact that her limbs ached – something akin to the muscle cramps she sometimes had, but it was different. 

_“You're growing.”_ When Michael's voice returned, a little of her awareness faded – the pain and the ambient noise was gone, leaving only smell and taste.

 _“What do you mean, growing?”_ The plate of Schnitzel was set down in front of her – and it was accompanied by the most heavenly smelling mashed potatoes she had ever seen in her life.

 _“Growing taller. It's a... a bit of a side affect of being possessed at your age. It won't be that much, just a couple of inches.”_ Michael actually chuckled. _“Eat your dinner, Gracie.”_

*  
“And then this girl showed up out of nowhere and turned the man to ash.” Ben held the glass of juice tighter. “She sounded really pissed that the guy was there.” 

Dean looked down at the boy sitting at Bobby's kitchen table, his eyes glancing over at Lisa, who was holding onto her coffee mug like her life depended on it. It was a hell of a story and he believed every word of it. But as to why Zachariah would go after the two of them, he was completely clueless. “So Michael dusted that asshole. Guess that means there's one less dickhead to worry about.”

Sam snorted into his mug. “Still doesn't explain why he was there.”

“He... or the girl, whatever it was... said we were supposed to be left alone.” Lisa took a drink of coffee, her hands shaking. “Michael, that is. He said he was very specific about it.”

“Heather was most likely on that same list until that demon went to Jasper.” Castiel frowned and folded his arms, leaning against the counter. “I don't suppose you can provide a plausible reason as to why Zachariah was there, can you, Erato?”

The muse threw him a look of undisguised disgust. “Over the past few centuries, I've come to the conclusion that nothing you angels do make sense. You just sit up there in Heaven watching the little humans run around and then degrade them when they do something stupid. They have to be tricked into starting the end of the world for you to get off your feathered asses and do something.”

“She's got a point, Cas.” Dean went over to the coffee pot. “And I know, I know, you had orders.” He cut off the retort he could see the angel about to deliver. “You also didn't know any better.” He refilled his mug and then started on making another pot of coffee. 

“You were saying Pestilence is dead.” Bobby interjected before anyone else could speak. “Don't suppose you know who did it?”

“Oh, I have an idea or two.” She leaned forward to rest her arms on the table. “I can give you one other piece of good news.”

“What's that?” Sam said, sitting down at the table.

Erato looked around at the faces slowly before speaking. “Most of the non-demonic monsters are running for cover. The only beings still running around in any number are those that require, how should I say this – regular feeding.”

Castiel let out a breath. “I fail to see how that's a good thing.”

“It's a bunch of things less to worry about, you idjit.” Bobby said, walking over to the coffee pot, which had just finished brewing. 

“Do you think we're still in danger?” Lisa broke in. “I mean... I don't want to...”

“I think you're pretty safe, or as safe as anyone can be in these times.” Erato stated and then sighed, stood up and took Castiel by the arm. “We'll be right back.” 

“Wait a second...” Dean started to say and an instant later, both the angel and the muse had vanished from the house. “Damn it.”

“Anyone want to guess what _that_ was about?” Bobby asked as he refilled his mug. 

*  
Castiel jerked his arm away sharply when he and Erato landed on the far side of the salvage yard. “Don't touch me again.” 

“Fine, Feathers.” She folded her arms, her face twisted into a grimace. “But it was a better method than telling everyone else to clear out.” 

“You're insufferable.” He started back towards the house.

“I know why Zachariah went to the Bradens.” She called after him, and he turned slowly back towards her.

“And you do not wish to divulge this in front of the Winchesters, why?” He closed the distance between them until their faces were mere inches apart. He hadn't realized how small the muse was compared to his height.

“Because you and I both know that when it comes down to it, the only person Dean Winchester will protect without question is Sam.” She blinked, her face calm – and he knew she saw the slight falter in his own. “Terrible, isn't it? What John Winchester turned him into? My sister told you there was a plan where neither brother has to say yes. You wanted to her to tell you what it was. And now I want you to tell me, Castiel, Soldier of Heaven, member of the First Garrison of the Legion of Michael if you have no qualms whatsoever of a thirteen year old girl and an eleven year old boy playing the roles that the Winchester brothers were destined for since the Expulsion from Eden.”

A feeling unlike any he had ever known or heard described settled over the angel. He stared into the muse's brown eyes, praying that he was lying to her about this – but her face held only curiosity and frankness. “What?”

“That's what the Unforgivable Plan is, Castiel. That the two children of Dean Winchester take on the roles instead of their father and uncle.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Time is running out. You and the brothers can run around in circles, trying to find a way to fix this, but I'm telling you, if you continue on this insane Team Free Will idea, it will end with billions dead, and Sam Winchester possessed by the devil.”

He stepped back from her and leaned against a half-rusted out mini-van. “Forgive me, I am still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of the battle of Michael and Lucifer taking place in the bodies of children.”

“It's a lot to take in.” She leaned against a sedan that was half-buried in snow. “Quite frankly, I am surprised that you were unaware of Ben Braden's parentage.”

“I was not entirely sure.” He took a breath and looked down at his hands. “And I agree, it is a plan that shouldn't even be contemplated.” He lifted his face to study hers. “What was Zachariah thinking?”

“Zachariah was an idiot.” She snorted. “And I agree, he is one less problem to worry about.”

“What of Raphael?” Castiel couldn't believe he'd forgotten the other archangel until just now.

“No idea what he's up to. Probably off slaying demons and anything else that he wants to while Michael tries to keep things under control.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Let's get back inside before you get too cold.”

*  
“How are you doing with that insane code of Heather's?” Sam asked Bobby, who was slowly turning over the copied down words again.

“It's all chaos.” The old hunter shook his head. “Quite frankly, I also don't know how much longer I can lie to her school about where she is.” He looked up as Castiel and Erato reappeared in the living room. “You two going to share with the rest of the class?”

Sam frowned at the angel – the expression on Castiel's face concerned him. “Something wrong?”

Castiel blinked a few times, looking around the room as if he'd never seen it before. “Where's Dean?” 

“Kitchen, why?” Sam watched as the angel slowly looked in that direction and then over to Erato, who picked up a piece of paper from Bobby's desk. The hunter paid her no mind, he too, was watching Castiel. “What's wrong?”

“I am not certain.” He gave the muse a funny look that Sam couldn't place. 

“Oh.” Erato turned to Bobby. “You need anything from the store? Milk, coffee, beer... junk food?”

“Pizza!” Ben's voice called from the kitchen. 

Bobby cleared his throat. “Yeah... could use a few things...” He scribbled a few things down on a piece of paper. “You know where the supermarket is?”

“I know where _lots_ of supermarkets are. I also know where the best places to get pizza on this planet are.” She replied in a voice reminiscent of a little girl announcing she could count to one hundred. She scanned the list. “Good thing I've got my ID on me... anyone not like deep dish?” She grinned, looking from Sam to Bobby to Dean, who had just come into the room. “I'm older than the Grand Canyon and I still get carded!” A moment later, she vanished.

“That muse is too damn perky.” Dean grumbled and headed for the desk where Bobby was. “Lisa had to make a few phone calls, let her family know she and Ben are okay.” He looked at the other three, stopping when he got to the angel. “Cas?” He frowned. “Something wrong?” 

Castiel stepped up to Bobby's desk. “I need to talk to you all about something.” His voice was quiet. 

Sam had the distinct feeling that what he had to tell them wasn't something they wanted to hear.

*  
All ten of the women were sleeping. Lucifer stood in the center of the main room, slowly passing the bedrooms, where they were all deep in slumber. They would remain here, asleep, until the twenty-fifth. He knew that none of them had been resting well, and they would need their rest. By the end of the month, nine of them would be dead the tenth, would be the vessel for his long-lost Persephone. He wasn't exactly picky as to whom it would be – all of them were perfect for the role. 

Olga, the little slip of a girl from Romania. Big brown eyes, soft brown hair and very girl-next door.

Jo, the huntress – blond, curvy and muscled – a perfect companion for a hunter. 

Maria, the student...

He stopped when he came to the room where he could see Astrid slumbering. The girl who looked so much like Jessica Moore, the girl whose death had set Sam on his path to his destiny. He really ought to just select her now and forget about the others. He chuckled to himself. 

Now all he needed to do was find Sam. 

*  
Dean decided that the best thing to do about finding out that Ben was his son was to act like he didn't know. Lisa had told him he wasn't – so odds were, either she didn't know, or she had lied to him. If nothing else, playing dumb might keep the boy and his mother safe in the end. He'd be making agreements to keep them safe for whatever happened next. 

When Erato returned with three bags worth of groceries and two pizza boxes, conversation seemed to stop in favor of food. The muse was the strangest of the bunch that he had met. Unlike Melpomene and Clio, who had both seemed serious, Urania, who looked like a kid and acted like an old woman and – Poly, who was... well, weird – Erato sort of reminded him of the Trickster – Gabriel. Completely comfortable with what she could do, and rather fond of showing off. 

Pity she wasn't into guys.

“Where in the world is this from?” Lisa said, taking another bite of pizza. 

“A place called Mama Stella's in Kankaee, Illinois.” Erato replied, pulling a mushroom off the top of her slice and popping it in her mouth. 

“It's awesome.” Ben put in, catching a strand of cheese with his fingers.

“Don't talk with your mouth full.” His mother admonished. 

“Thanks for the pizza.” Sam directed towards the muse. “You could have gotten frozen.”

“Are you insane?” Dean interjected. “This stuff is awesome.”

“Going to agree with Dean here, Sam. 'Sides, that oven isn't exactly the best thing for frozen pizza.” Bobby looked over at Castiel. “What are you doing?”

Castiel stabbed at his slice with a fork, cutting off a small chunk. “It's easier for me to eat it this way. It can be... overwhelming to my senses. I have not had this problem until recently...” He frowned. “I believe my grace may be reviving itself.”

“Well, that's good, right?” Dean answered, and then put down his slice. “You think that might be because Zachariah is dead?”

“Possibly.” The angel turned his attention to his food. 

Bobby looked over at the muse, who was staring at her phone with a disgusted look on her face. “Something wrong?”

“How in the entire...” She shook her head. “Stupid little...” She grabbed her bottle of beer and took a long pull from it. “When this is all over, Penny and I are going on a demon hunt.” 

“I think it's best if we don't know.” Sam stated, before anyone else could speak. 

Lisa looked around the group, ending with Dean. “This is just... insane. I mean, more insane than the whole changeling thing. It doesn't get worse, does it?”

“Well, not just yet.” Dean replied. 

Everyone turned their attention back to their food, rather than continue the conversation. 

*  
Morpheus opened his eyes, his mouth slowly drawing into a smile. As much as he knew that it was very likely a trap, and that Lucifer couldn't be that stupid, he was too delighted that he'd found what he was looking for. The Winchesters didn't know that he'd gone upstairs while they slept when he was in the house in Sioux Falls. Neither did Bobby Singer. He'd found it in one of the three bedrooms; a tee-shirt advertising Harley Davidson. The kind of shirt designed to show off curves and leave little to the imagination. Well, if that was Jo Harvelle's style, or if it was merely a huntress's prop, he didn't care. What it held was more important than what it was. 

The shirt had been riddled with her scent. The unique smell that every human had, undetectable to mankind, except in odd circumstances. Like a bloodhound, he'd learned the scent and promptly began following it in dreams. Through the minds of bartenders with disgusting thoughts and then through the minds of people the woman had saved on hunts.

And then he found the huntress herself – along with the other missing nine women. 

The only trouble was – they were in a warehouse in the middle of Siberia. In a town full of upper level demons. 

Morpheus tucked his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling of his room, frowning. The demons would need to move the women before the twenty-seventh of March. He would need to start looking around Bethel for likely hiding places. 

The important thing was, however, that he had found Jo Harvelle – and once he found a specific human, he almost never lost track of them again.

*

Dean stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, glancing over at Erato, who looked about as nervous as he felt. Below them, the Mississippi River slowly flowed southward, the water a wintery gray. The season of cold was slowly letting go here in Tennessee, clumps of crocuses were scattered among the still-brown grass. He swallowed, watching a barge make its way northward. “They're going to be pretty pissed when they find us gone.” He was still rather surprised that the two of them managed to get out of the house and here to Memphis. The fact that the muse had talked to him in his head and Castiel hadn't picked it up also frightened him to some degree. 

“I know.” The woman took a few steps towards him. “I'm used to being hated, so I won't mind too much.”

“I take it Michael will know where to be on the twenty-seventh.” He tensed as he heard the familiar sound of beating wings.

“Yes, Dean. I do.” Heather's voice sounded strange when it was manipulated by an archangel. 

He turned towards the new arrival and had to blink once or twice. Heather had changed, somehow. He wasn't quite sure what it was – but this was more than angelic possession. Something about the girl had physically changed. “Hello, Buttercup.”

“Cute.” Heather-Michael took a few steps towards them. “Erato, good to see you again.” 

The muse folded her arms, hugging herself. “Michael.” 

“Morpheus needs your help.” The archangel replied. “Don't worry about getting Heather home. I'll see to that.”

“Wait a second...” Dean took a step forward just as Michael raised his hand towards him.

“She cannot go back there, Dean. By now they have learned you have gone and it will not take long for Castiel to track her.” He shifted his eyes towards Erato. “Go. Now.”

The muse nodded once and then was gone. 

“Well, that was strange. A muse taking orders from an angel.” Dean felt the need to try and get on top of the situation again.

“She knows what she's doing, Dean.” Michael rocked back on Heather's heels, hands stuffed in the pockets of her coat. “I have a feeling you have some people you don't want to see harmed.”

“Damn right and...” He was cut short as Michael held up a hand.

“I know, Dean. I know.” The angel started to circle him. “There's the Bradens, a family in Fitchburg, Wisconsin – a scattering of others. Once the Bradens return to Indiana, they'll be headed there shortly with Castiel, the ones you want safe will be.”

“What about Heather?” Dean was ashamed to admit it, but he'd not thought about what was going to happen to her until just now.

“She'll be sent back to Sioux Falls. She will be fine.” The angel drew level with him and strangely, rested Heather's head against his shoulder. 

Dean set a hand around the girl, hugging her slightly. She was taller than he remembered, or had she always been this height and he'd forgotten. It was starting to alarm him other things he'd found himself forgetting about her. He swallowed. “Could I talk to her – before we uh...” 

Michael drew away from him, stepping back to look up into his face. Something changed in Heather's face and when she next spoke, all authority and power was gone from her voice. “I'm sorry.”

He blinked at her. “You're sorry?”

“I...” She bit at her lip. “I knew you'd be angry with me for doing this...”

“Heather...” He stepped towards her and she stepped back. “Hey...”

“I knew I was going to be in trouble.” She sighed and looked towards the river. “Guess I didn't feel like dying.”

“Well, there's no shame in that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry too. Sorry you ever had to get involved in this whole mess. If I could, I'd find a way to change it. Neither of us should be standing here, I know that. You should be home, with your mom and dad, blissfully ignorant of the shit that's about to go down.”

“There's no guarantee I'd be safe, Dean.” She shook her head. “And what's done is done.” 

“When this... when this is all over...” He started towards her and saw the change start in her eyes. “Take care of yourself, Gosalyn.”

Heather/Michael smiled. “You too, Darkwing.” 

Dean's world dissolved into pure, white light.

*

Heather woke with a start, cold and confused. A fraction of a moment ago, she'd been standing by the Mississippi River. Now she was in a snowbank. As she rose to her feet, she realized she was almost in the exact same spot she'd been when Michael found her, only further up the embankment. She brushed the clumps of heavy, late winter snow from her coat and started towards the road. The cold bit at her face and when she reached the road, she fumbled in her pockets for her mittens, only to find they were gone. Somewhere between here and then, they must have fallen and Michael hadn't noticed. Balling up her hands, she kept them in her pockets and started towards the salvage yard. The very act of walking was rather strange, after not having control of her own body for several weeks. She wasn't tired and she wasn't hungry – she was merely cold and sore. She winced as she heard a joint pop in her leg as she moved forward, a feeling of elation settling over her when the start of the fence came into view. 

She came to a halt as the Impala suddenly appeared on the road and she remained where she was as it drew level with her and came to a halt. She swallowed hard as the driver's side door opened and Sam stepped out. She swallowed hard as he slammed the door shut and came towards her. Even though she'd grown a few inches, Heather was very aware of just how much taller Sam was than her. He strangely seemed even taller now. She was also fully expecting him to slap her and she braced herself for it.

Instead, she found herself on the receiving end of a bone-crushing hug. 

She returned the hug, her face pressed against his coat, fighting back the urge to cry. Either of out relief or sorrow, she didn't know.

Sam's arms tightened for a moment and then she heard him curse softly. “You're grounded for the rest of the school year.”

Heather snorted. “That's fair. I've probably got a mountain of homework to do anyway.”

He let her go and they went back to the car. “How is it that you can act so much like Dean?”

“Genetics, Sammy.” She didn't dare smile, not yet. She jerked open the passenger side door, gritting her teeth as the pain in her joints suddenly flared again. They stayed silent while Sam turned the car around and headed back to Bobby's. As the Impala drove up under the covered garage, she cleared her throat. “This is going to sound weird but uh... what's today's date?”

Sam let out the barest traces of a chuckle. “It's Thursday, March fourth.” He gave her a tired look. “You don't have to go back to school until Monday.”

They both got out of the car and headed for the house.


	25. I Can't Be Your Friend

It was a long weekend. Sam couldn't remember a weekend that seemed as long as this one had been. Castiel had never come back from Cicero, livid over what had happened. Not that Sam entirely blamed him. Cas has done a lot for him and Dean, given up a lot and taken risks that he didn't have to. But, deep down, Sam had a feeling he knew why his brother had done it. It was the same sacrifice that his father would take as well. He may not have a lot of faith the plan that the muses, their mother and Michael had come up with, but it was a hell of a lot better than watching Heather and Ben take on the fight that was destined to be his and Dean's. If all they did was postpone this fight for a handful of centuries, or even better, a couple more millennium, by the time it did happen, they would all be long dead and mankind will have moved off of planet Earth.

“You got everything?” He looked over at Heather, who was sitting next to him in the front seat, in the place that was usually his. 

“Uh huh.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks for taking me to school today.”

“No problem.” He sighed. “You're done at three-thirty, right?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her temple. “I think I'm going to spend this week making up tests at lunch.”

Sam nodded. “You sleep last night?”

“A little. I just... I haven't been sleepy, or tired...” She gave him a half-smile, more nervous than happy. “Only thing I've been is hungry.”

He laughed. “Well, you did shoot up six inches in the past two and half weeks. And don't take this the wrong way, but uh... now that you've ah... evened out, you look like you've been as sick as we've told people you were.”

She snorted. “I was average, Sam. Not fat.” 

“Did I say that?” He turned the Impala into the school parking lot. “Those scale things about weight and height never take genetics into consideration anyway.”

“And we're what, exactly?” She gave him a look. “I mean, I can't exactly say that I'm Greek...”

“Danish, Dutch, German, English, Welsh and Irish.” Sam eased the car up to the curb. “And you're more Italian than you are Greek.” He held up a finger. “The pantheon moved, I know you know that.”

“Yeah, well, after the past few months, I think if I ever met him, I'd punch Percy Jackson in the face.” She picked up her bag. “Guess I'll have to tell Nate I can't leave the salvage yard.”

“That's a school project, that's the only thing you can leave for.” He gave her a worn smile. “And for the record, Heath-bar, I'd rather have you spent the last three weeks were you did than the alternative.”

“Thanks.” She opened the door and got out of the car. 

Sam watched as she headed up the stairs, and went inside. He shifted the Impala into gear and pulled away. He wasn't sure what he and Bobby were supposed to do now. Cas gone who knew where, Dean and Michael even more so – and none of the muses hadn't been in contact. The twenty-seventh was rapidly approaching and the only job he seemed to have was not let Lucifer find him. He was planning on staying in the salvage yard and not going on hunts himself, and really, what else was he going to do? 

“Is that really your plan?” A voice said from the backseat and, had he not been at a stop sign, Sam was certain he would have had a wreck. 

“Morpheus?” He took a few deep breaths before starting to drive again. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, I missed you too.” He leaned forward against the back of the front seat. “Look, I can't stay long or I'll be missed. Just keep Saturday open, all right?”

“What's Saturday?” He nudged the demi-god with his elbow. “And is your seat-belt on?”

“I don't need lectures on safety from you.” He chuckled. “Let's just say that's the next time I can meet Death.”

“Death?” He gave Morpheus a stunned look in the rear-view mirror. “Like, the Horseman?”

“Well, yes, considering my uncle is dead.” He shook his head. “Look, this is going to be extremely risky because while all of us were looking at something else, Lucifer bound Death to him. This could be our only chance to talk to him before things really go south.” He leaned back in the seat, looking drained. “Without that ring, we can't open the portal into the cage.”

“I know.” He frowned. “Who's got Pestilence's ring anyway?”

“It's on Olympus.” Morpheus leaned forward again. “Oh, and just so you know, your brother is fine. He and Michael are off cleaning out vampire nests in South America.” He was gone as quickly as he came.

“Damn it!” Sam slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

*  
Heather was trying not to pay attention to the people staring at her as she moved down the hallway at school. She knew she looked different and she'd been gone for a while, but seriously, other than the six inches, had she changed all that much? Maybe she was seriously underestimating how big of a change that was. It couldn't be helped, in any case. Her teachers hadn't said much to her when she'd turned in her assignments. She had quizzes to make up in math and science, several spelling tests in English, and a test in history as well. There were also going to be tests in nearly every class next week for the end of the quarter. Sighing, she stuffed her books into her bag, glad for the day's end. She'd have to ask Sam if she was allowed to stay after school to make up tests or not. 

“Hey, Heather.” She looked to her left and saw Nate leaning against the row of lockers. “Didn't get to talk to you much in class today. Uh... did you get any work done on our project?” His voice sounded strained, as if he was holding back the urge to say more than he was.

“Yes, actually.” She offered him a wan smile as she shoved her history book into her bag. “The platform and stand are completely painted, the trees are made, but not painted, they needed to dry.”

“Awesome, I've got the figures and the box painted, I'm still working on the buildings. How's the surface of the platform?”

“Good. I managed to make miniatures of all the weapons and their domes. Well, I want to make a few backups on the domes in case they break, but I'd say it's about three rounds with a hot glue gun, a needle and some fishing line away from being done.” Heather set her bag down and pulled on her coat. “This is going to sound really weird, but I'm having trouble with how slow walking is. Does that make sense?”

“Well, considering what you've been doing for the past few weeks, I'd say yes.” He folded his arms, watching the other students file past them.

“At least I'm used to being aware again.” She shouldered her bag and they headed down the hall together. “That was really the weirdest thing about it. It was like being in the front seat of a roller coaster that's going a hundred and twenty miles an hour. That was, when I could see.”

Nate nodded slowly as they turned towards the exit. “What was it like the rest of the time?”

“I was asleep. And I'm talking like, perfect sleep. Like curled up all safe in warm in a quilt in front of a fire and nothing is ever going to harm you again sleep.” She shook her head. “I mean, I haven't had sleep that good in... since I lived in Indianapolis.” 

“Damn.” They both hunched their shoulders as they went into the late winter afternoon. “You think you'll be up for working on the project Thursday?”

“Thursday works. I should have the trees done by then.” She coughed and turned towards the line of cars waiting to pick students up, picking out the Impala about ten cars back. “You want to put everything together this weekend? Or at least get everything in one place?”

“Uh, I think we can manage that.” Nate stuffed his hands into his pockets as the horn from the Impala sounded. “We'll work it out on Thursday.”

“Sure.” She headed towards the car. “See you later.” Heather bent into the wind as she walked towards her waiting ride. Seriously, did Sam think she was going to do something insane in front of all these people? She jerked the passenger door open and slid into the front seat, slamming the door behind her. “Hi.” 

“Hey.” Sam watched her as she fastened her seat belt. “How was school?”

“Fine.” She gave him a wan look. “Shoot any monsters today?”

He gave a weak laugh as he put the Impala into gear. “No, but it's still early, plenty of time for monster killing before dinner.” 

“We still having stew?” She adjusted how she was sitting.

“Yeah. Can't believe Bobby didn't know he had a crock-pot until you found it.” He shook his head. “Then again, I think he just keeps track of his books and the cars outside and that's about as good as he can get.” 

“Are you still mad at me?” She bit at her bottom lip.

“I was never mad at you.” He glanced at her. “I understand why you did what you did. Maybe there's enough blame to go around in all of this.” He let out a breath. “And honestly, I think you might deserve the least amount of it. If any.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know, you're a real lousy liar, Sam.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice had an odd pitch to it. “What am I lying about?”

“That you weren't mad at me.” She swallowed. “How do I know that?” She saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel. “No, seriously... I'm not asking how I know that, I'm asking how the hell did I know you were lying about it?”

“That's what I want to know.” He blanched, as if he just realized what he said. “Okay, you're right, I was pissed. But it wasn't for very long – I think Dean was angrier.”

“Well, how do you think _I_ feel about all this?” She leaned back in the seat and covered her eyes with her hand. “Let's not fight. We can figure it out later.”

“Yeah.” Came Sam's short reply. “Not a problem.”

Heather didn't dare mention he was lying again.

**  
Castiel couldn't bring himself to return to Sioux Falls after going with the Bradens. He now found himself wandering once again, uncertain of what, exactly, he was looking for. He wasn't looking for God, because it was clear that he didn't want to be found. Nor could the angel figure out how to find him the way humans did. A problem of being an angel, he supposed – emotions were lost on him. If that's what it took to understand what Erato had told him a month ago. In short, he found himself lost all over again and unwilling to return to South Dakota.

He leaned against the railing of the bridge, looking down into the swirling waters of San Francisco Bay. Well, he would be looking down into the water, if the city was not hung thick with fog. He had a feeling he needed to be here, but he couldn't place it exactly. It was one of those things he just knew, like the time he'd been there to help the reapers after the Battle of Gettysburg. Any time there was a catastrophic death toll on earth, angels were called in to help gather souls, both the damned and the saved. 

Mankind would certainly be surprised just how few people fell into the earlier category. 

How many religions condemned another faith over their beliefs? Castiel had long ago stopped counting. There were many atheists who were better examples of decent human beings than some of the self-righteous men who walked the earth, finding sin in the simplest of pleasures.

Castiel may not have the sort of faith an angel should have, he supposed, but even he had to admit that anyone who thought it a sin to laugh and be joyful on a sabbath day had spent too much time reading the book of Leviticus and not enough time reading the Psalms. Human religion in and of itself was more confusing than human emotions.

He was about to move away from the railing and from the city itself when he felt it. A tiny tremor, a fraction of give in the earth and then, it repeated itself, a little stronger. No human could feel it yet, but they would – very soon. The angel straightened up, bracing himself against the railing, waiting, holding his breath as he scanned the city with his mind, wondering if this was a non-apocalyptic event or merely an unfortunate coincidence. It only took a second, but then he felt Death. The horseman was in the city. This wasn't a fated event, it was unique, and it would be terrible. He swallowed hard, and other things started bursting in his mind. Facts and statistics of this whole area, the people, the animals, the strongest and weakest points all brushing across his conscience and settling down around his awareness like dry leaves gusting around a tree in the autumn. 

The fog swept away from the city with the speed of a curtain being thrown back. The sky above was revealed in a brilliant shade of blue – and then the earth awoke with a shudder it hadn't in this city in two decades.

**  
 _Holy shit, we're up high._ Was the only thing Dean could think as he looked out over a city he didn't recognize. He and Michael were standing on top of a building, invisible to the rest of the world, slowly scanning the area. The hunter was vaguely aware of the archangel's thoughts, but they were about as clear as his own sense of being in control. It was like looking at the page of a book you knew by heart in a language you couldn't even name. 

The glimpse at reality and the world around him faded almost as quickly as it came, and Dean found himself once again tucked into the back of his own mind, put quietly to sleep until Michael let him wake up again.

In his dreams, he was Lisa's home in Cicero. He could smell the roasting chicken in the oven, the heady scent of herbs thick in the air. When he looked into the dining room, the table was set for ten people, and it could seat all of them comfortably. Dean frowned to himself as he stepped around the table, reading the name cards – the dinner was fancy enough for them – and the silver shone. His name was at the head of the table, and then down on his right: _Sam, Jess, Jimmy, Claire_. Lisa's was at the other end, opposite of his, and heading back towards him: _Ben, John, Mary, Jo._

“Dinner's ready!” Lisa's voice called out, and Dean turned back towards the kitchen to help bring in the food. As he was returning, carrying a steaming serving bowl full of mashed potatoes, he realized something he hadn't when he'd looked at the name cards.

His parents were seated at the dinner table, as was Jess. All three of them were dead.

More alarming to him was the fact that neither Bobby nor Heather was there. 

He couldn't say which worried him more; the fact that they weren't present, or that he hadn't noticed it right away.

*

Ben hadn't really liked coming back to Indiana. For some strange reason, he felt a lot safer in South Dakota than he did here. While the angel assured both him and his mom that they were in no danger, it didn't change the fact that he knew more about what was going on than he wanted to. It also didn't help that he now knew that Dean Winchester was his dad. Well, father, as mom put it. Being a dad required a lot more than just being the other half of his DNA. 

Maybe when things were over, Dean could come live with them here in Cicero. Maybe Sam could come too – but that might be weird. There was also Heather. It wasn't like she had done anything other than reappear. As much as he wanted to deny it, Ben instinctively knew that if Dean came to live with them here, Heather wouldn't. Something told him that his mom wouldn't want her around. He hadn't missed the look his mother had given the girl and neither had she. Ben couldn't understand why his mom gave his sister – _I have a sister_ – a look that clearly was full of distaste. Heather's look had been strange – rather like a cat backed into a corner, searching for an escape. That hadn't made any sense to him at all.

Then again, given the week they were having, he could have well being seeing things.

Things might be a little easier if the angel had stayed. Ben was certain they'd be safer if Castiel was still here, but the angel said he couldn't remain. Just him being there was an alarm bell, rather than another level of security. When Ben asked what _that_ meant, he received the frustrating answer of 'it's complicated' before leaving. 

In Ben's mind, 'it's complicated' was just another version of 'you're too young to understand' that adults started using once your age was older than nine. 

He shrugged one shoulder strap off of his backpack and swung it around to his front so he could pull his key out of the front pocket. He unlocked the back door, let himself inside, quickly turned off the alarm before resetting it. Mom had gotten slightly paranoid after the incident with the changelings. Ben didn't blame her too much – but again, he had a feeling that ADT didn't have an emergency code for monsters. 

“Anybody home?” He didn't expect a reply and tossed his backpack onto the kitchen counter, heading for the fridge. 

The only response he got was the furnace kicking on. 

Ben opened the freezer, got out the bag of pizza rolls and a jug of Ocean Spray out of the fridge. While he waited for his after-school snack to heat up in the microwave, he flipped on the television, deciding that his homework could wait at until after his daily dose of _Law & Order._ He was about to change to TNT from the news station his mom watched when he stopped, the remote falling from his hand in shock. 

He recognized San Francisco skyline – or at least, that's what he thought it was. “Shit, I mean, shoot...” He said involuntarily, surprised at his curse. Ben fumbled for the remote, turned up the volume and went to get his snack, more focused on listening than anything else.

_“The quake was recorded at being a seven point two on the Richter Scale and was felt as far north as Vancouver and as far south as...”_

“Watching TV, Ben?” His mom's voice caused him to jump. 

“Uh, I was just going to watch while I was eating my snack.” He swallowed and gestured towards the screen. “Did you know about the quake in California?”

“Oh, it's awful, isn't it?” His mom set her bag down and gave him an smile. “I'm going to go take a shower.” She turned and headed out of the kitchen. 

Ben didn't turn around when the microwave beeped, the smell of overcooked pepperoni hanging in the air. His mom had sounded weird; like the way she sounded for a week after the changeling incident. Did Mom know someone in San Francisco? Or was it something else? He let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding and went over to retrieve his snack. He had a very bad feeling that the earthquake was just the start of the bad stuff that was starting to happen.

Maybe the bad things had been going on and he hadn't noticed.

He was going to do some research after his homework was done.

**

“I'll be back to pick you up at six.” Sam said to Heather as they pulled up next to the Turabian's house. “Unless you call.” 

Heather nodded. “Got it – and thanks.” 

“It's too far for you to walk.” Sam replied, running a hand through his hair. “And even if you had a bike or something, the roads are icy.” 

“True.” She got out of the Impala, pulling her backpack over her shoulder and then opened the door to the backseat and took the cardboard box that held her share of her and Nate's project. “Although I bet if I look hard enough, I can probably find a way to turn one of those cars at Uncle Bobby's into a snowmobile.” 

He snorted in reply. “I don't think he'd let you do that. Hell, I wouldn't let you do that.” 

“Yeah.” She adjusted her hold on the box, shut the back door and waved at him as the Impala pulled away. “Just like you're not still pissed at me.” She turned and headed up the drive. Nate's house reminded her of Beth's back in Jasper. A siding-covered split level with a wind chime on the front porch. Rock salt crunched under her boots as she went up to the front door, rather surprised that Sam hadn't waited for her to get into Nate's home before leaving. “Wonder where the rush is for him.” She rang the bell, stomping her feet against the large mat to shake the excess salt and snow off her boots.

Nate's face appeared and he opened the inner door before holding the glass storm door open for her. “Hey, morning.” 

“Hi. Thanks. I'm not too early, am I?” She came inside, waiting for him to shut the door. 

“No, although I'll warn you since I know you're a basketball nut,” He took the box from her so she could take off her coat and boots. “My dad's school, Iowa, is playing Georgia Tech today.”

“I understand. Bug me during the game and you're dead meat, right?” She took her things back from him.

“Exactly.” He led her down the hallway. “Mom, this is Heather.”

“Hi, Mrs. Turabian.” She managed a half-wave. 

Mrs. Turabian looked to be in her late forties, with brown hair and a very warm smile. She looked up from – whatever she was doing at the kitchen table, Heather couldn't quite tell. “Hello, Heather. You two have fun working on your shadow box.” Her expression turned serious. “And keep the door to the basement open, Nathan.” 

“Mom!” Nate said, indignantly, and Heather was glad she kept her face blank as they headed downstairs. “I can't believe she said that!”

“Maybe she thinks we're seventeen instead of thirteen.” She stated as they came into the finished basement and into a small nook that held a large work table, on which was a painted cardboard box. “That looks awesome.”

“Thanks.” He rubbed his nose. “Either that, or my mom's just been waiting for a chance to embarrass me in front of a girl, you know?” His face drained of color slightly. “I mean...”

“It's okay.” Heather set her box down and then her backpack. “It's the girls in our class and the eighth graders I hear in the bathrooms about how their moms are making their lives hell that piss me off.”

“Yeah.” He took a breath. “Didn't get a chance to ask you, did you get all your tests and stuff made up?”

“Uh huh. I'm just glad that the teachers didn't ask what I had. I think they all believe I had some form of mono, or a mental breakdown. The later seems more plausible.” She started to examine the large box that was sitting on the table, the outside of it painted with the boxy, boring buildings described in the book, the lower building on each side having a projector screen showing the scene within. “This is fantastic.”

“Thanks.” Nate opened her box. “I can't believe how many trees you made in the time you did.”

“Well, it's like I told you, I haven't been sleeping all that much. A few hours a night is all I need. That's mainly how I got so caught up so fast.” Heather stepped back from the table, looking at the components of their project for a moment. “Do you think we went overboard with this?”

Nate looked up from examining the hubcap turned platform. “Naa...” He grinned. “It's seventy percent of our grade.” He carefully set the platform down, not wanting to disturb the six small domes that were hot-glued to the canvas surface. “And I'd say we're getting an A.” He frowned for a moment. “Are these domes actual glass?”

“Yeah. Had a little fun with a blowtorch.” She shrugged. “Don't worry,” She saw the stunned look on his face. “I wore gloves.” 

He kept staring at her. “You're crazy, Kittridge.”

“What, because I took a blowtorch to an empty bottle of Jim Beam?” She leaned back against the wall, rubbing her temple. “Don't tell Mrs. Fasci that, she might want to know where I got it.” She slid down to the floor, staring at her shoes. She didn't look up as she heard him move to sit next to her. “Sorry.”

“Don't be.” He set a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, rather awkwardly. “I shouldn't have called you crazy.”

“I am a little crazy. Most girls my age wouldn't think of doing what I did with the domes. I wanted them to look real and plastic wasn't going to cut it with me.” She leaned back against the wall, her eyes closed. “This is going to sound childish, but I really want my mom and dad right now.”

“Given what you've been through, I don't blame you.” She could tell by his tone that he meant it

She felt the tears slip down her cheeks. “I'm sorry, we should be working.”

“No, it's okay.” He took a breath. “We just have to assemble the thing. That means we need to think of something to do while glue dries.”

Heather rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and then took a deep breath of her own. “What, like discuss how we can repeat the process of showing off our superior skills next year?”

Nate chuckled. “Sorry, the science fair is a solo project.” They stood up. “So you're staying in Sioux Falls then?”

“Most likely – maybe just until the end of junior high. After that, I don't know.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I really hate not knowing.”

“I don't blame you.” He went over to the shelves on the far wall and came back with his own materials for the shadow box. “You ever seen _Red Dwarf_?” 

*  
Morpheus pulled the collar of his coat up and bent his head into the wind as the snow and ice lashed down against him, the cold as bitter as any he could remember in his long life. This had to be the worst ice storm Helsinki had seen in decades. The whole thing should have reached Russia by now, but the infernal storm was stalled, unable to move forward, thanks to Death. When he finally reached the diner that was his destination, it was almost a shock to see the lights on inside. No human in their right mind would be out in this sort of weather. He pulled hard on the nearly frozen-shut door and the contrast once he was inside made him cough.

“You're late.” The voice was gravely and worn.

He pulled off his stocking hat and stomped his boots free of snow and rock salt. “Apologies.” Morpheus finished taking off his scarf, gloves and unbuttoned his coat. The small restaurant was heavy with the scent of roast, biscuits – and death. 

“Sit.” The man in the black suit pointed to an empty chair on the other side of his table.

The much younger being made his way across the room, carefully stepping over the handful of humans that lay sprawled on the floor, rigor mortis already settling in on the bodies. He set his coat and wraps on the table next to the occupied one, slowly sliding into the offered chair. Morpheus had met Death before – and he remained one of the few things in the universe that absolutely terrified him. “Sir.”

“Still so polite.” Death looked up from his plate of food. “As if that is ever going to save you.” He held up his hand before Morpheus could reply. “But it is a trait I do wish more of your kind had possessed.”

“We do what we have to do.” He swallowed hard. 

“Contrary to what many think, I'm not one for senseless destruction.” He waved his free hand while stabbing a piece of meat with the fork he held in the other. “Earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, blizzards – I find them to be _boring._ ” He took a bite of food and then pushed the basket of bread towards Morpheus. “Have some.”

“Thank you.” He took a slice of toast from the offered basket and set it on the plate, before slowly buttering it. “It does smell good.”

“Yes.” Death turned his attention to his meat again while Morpheus doctored his toast. “And I know why you are here.”

He looked up from his plate. “Again, I am...”

“Quit sniveling like a child. I know why it has taken you so long. Believe me, I am no more amused at the current situation than you are.” He shook his head. “And no, I do not lament what has happened to my brothers. They have always been so... eager when they are allowed to play upon the Earth. Being subtle isn't their strong point.” 

Morpheus couldn't repress the snort that escaped his lips as he set the knife down and picked the bread up.

“And so they have been sent to their respective corners of Hell until called for again.” Death chuckled. “For myself, I require freedom.” 

Morpheus took a bite of the bread, watching him, not entirely certain of how this was going to proceed. He had known that Death was more than willing to help lock Lucifer back up in Hell and let the world go on its merry, confused and stumbling way – but there was always a price.

“How astute.” The Horseman held up the hand on which his ring resided. “I want the Gates sealed. No demons leave Hell, no angels leave Heaven – only the souls of mankind may enter where they are destined.” Surprise must have shown on his face, because Death smiled. “For twenty-five years. Once that time is over, the locks may be unbound and life goes on as normal.” He smirked. “And your grandmother will remain where she is. She is as bound to that home of yours as much as you yourself are.”

“Wouldn't we need...” He set the toast down. “the Tablets?”

“That is how humans seal the Gates. But you, you're not human, are you?” Death smirked and picked up his coffee cup. 

His hand shaking, Morpheus picked up his toast and took another bite. He knew exactly what the Horseman meant. “I could not do it until June.”

“I know that.” Death gave him a look he couldn't place. “Although I will say, when your grandmother bestowed those keys to you, she never dreamed you'd have to use them.”

He set the half-eaten bread down. “She might have...”

“Oh, shut up, boy.” Death gave him a chilling look. “Your grandmother is very old, but she does not know everything.”

Humbled, Morpheus bowed his head and picked at his toast, not trusting himself to speak.

“It's not so much to ask, is it?” There was something he didn't like about the Horseman's tone. Something that told him that there was something else going on; something that would make him regret doing what he asked. “It's humanity burning or facing an uncertain fate. It's your decision.”

Morpheus closed his eyes, thinking what that uncertain fate could be. With angels in Heaven and demons in Hell, there would be only the children of Eve and beings like himself left on the planet to stalk mankind. There were hunters, there were those among each kind who could skirt around peacefully – and no plots were in motion among the pagans; the Apocalypse had seemed to put all plans on hold. He took a deep breath, lifted his head and made his choice. 

**

“The school's run out of snow days.” Heather poked at the fire, busting up the nearly burnt log, before adding another one to the blaze. “I think it ran out of them before President's Day.” 

“Well, I'm not objecting to you staying, kid.” Bobby replied, standing to put a book back. “It's kind of nice having you around.”

“Thanks.” She dusted her hands off and then pulled the sleeves of her overlarge hoodie down over them. “Looks like I'll be in school at least until Flag Day at this point.”

“Yeah.” He took a sip of coffee. “Of course, the blackouts are annoying.” 

“I think it's the lack of a microwave that's the most bothersome.” She shrugged as Sam came downstairs, carrying the blankets from the upstairs closet and setting them on the sofa. “And I'm the one who has to listen to the two of you sawing logs at night.”

Sam snorted. “We're not that bad.”

“I think all those years of firing guns off without ear protection has messed up your hearing.” She sat down in the large easy chair. “If my phone wasn't dead, I'd shoot a video.”

Bobby shook his head. “I think she's got us with the hearing thing, Sam.”

“Maybe.” He sat down on the couch, rubbing his eyes. “I hate cabin fever.”

“That's because you've moved around so much.” The old hunter replied. “You're not used to being stationary for so long.” He shook his head. “I just hope we can get to Bethel when we need to.” 

“That should not be a problem, the storm is moving off.” Castiel's voice said from the kitchen and he came into the room, frowning. “What is wrong?”

“Wrong?” Sam cleared his throat. “You haven't been here over a week. You haven't checked in, and...”

“I have had things to do.” Castiel said flatly, sitting stiffly down in one of the empty chairs. “I've been helping in San Francisco.”

“Now there's an awful mess.” Bobby shook his head. “You okay?”

“As okay as I can be, considering the circumstances.” He looked over at Heather. “You've changed.” He turned to Sam before she could reply. “Have you talked to Morpheus or any of the others?”

“I talked to Erato on Sunday night. They have Death's ring. She said now it's just a matter of everyone keeping their heads down until the end of the month.” He snorted. “This weather does help in that department.”

“I still do not entirely support this plan.” Castiel said, folding his arms. “But compared to most of the alternatives, it is the best option.”

“There's just one thing I don't understand...” Sam said, rubbing his temple. 

“One thing?” Heather spoke up, folding her arms. 

Sam stared at her, mouth agape as she grinned and Bobby started to laugh. 

“I do not get what is so amusing.” Castiel interjected as Heather began to chuckle, as did Sam.

His words made the three of them laugh all the harder, their mirth shutting out the sound of ice and wind roaring outside. 

**

Michael once again found himself sitting under a bridge. It was rather calming, really. Being sheltered from the winds and out of sight of almost every living thing. It was different, being in Dean's body. He didn't feel so constricted, there was no need to hold back. He had healed Heather's body, of course, but just his possession of her had done some damage that he wasn't certain could be undone. Her growing six inches was the least of it. He leaned back against the support beam, staring down into the swirling water of the Yangtze River. 

_“Where the hell are we?”_ Dean's voice is groggy, half-awake. The man can only sense that they've stopped, Michael knows he cannot see what he does.

 _“China.”_ He lets out a breath. _“It's been a week and a half.”_

 _“Still sleepy. Why am I so sleepy?”_ Dean yawned in the corner of his own mind, and Michael smiled as the felt the man tuck himself back into that place.

“ _It's the years of lost sleep, Dean. All those nights, waiting for your father to come home, the research, the hunts, the worry, the nightmares of Hell. An average person spends a third of their life asleep – I'd wager you've maybe spent one-sixteenth of the life you've lived in slumber.”_ Michael swung down towards the river, vanishing before they hit the water, reappearing on the rocks that towered above Cape Horn. 

_“So what, I'm catching up?”_ Another yawn, and Dean's voice grew faint again.

 _“Something like that.”_ Michael stood, shoving the hands of his vessel into the pocket of the coat he was wearing. He let out a breath and turned towards the motion he felt behind him. “Morpheus.”

“Michael.” The demigod was crouched on a rock above him, his hands bracing against the stone, holding him in place. 

“Have you found the girls?” He shifted to a different rock so they were closer together, but he still had to look up at the much younger supernatural being.

“Yes. They'll be moved soon. There's only so many places in Bethel where they can be left and not be noticed.”

“You've done well.” He frowned. “You're still worried, aren't you?”

Morpheus blinked in response, his blue eyes betraying nothing. “Can you blame me?” He sighed and moved to a sit. “I know you angels are big into the just taking things on faith, but that is far easier said than done.”

Michael sighed. “I know.” He let out a breath. “And I feel that I have asked a lot of you and your family in all of this.” 

“There's been a lot asked of all of us, Michael.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I am just tired of it all.” He sighed. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” As much as he wanted to shift onto the same rock the demigod was on, he didn't dare. “Contrary to what you may think, I do not share the opinion that many angels have of you pagans.”

“I think the fault is in the fact that the majority of angels see things as black or white, good or bad – and it's far easier to throw us all into the category of bad, merely for the methods most have to use to stay alive.” Morpheus stood and stretched. “The ones who prey upon mankind outnumber those that don't, and quite frankly, I find it rather prejudicial that those of us belonging to the Western Pantheons are hunted down with more vigor than those of the Eastern.”

“Several gods of the Eastern Pantheons remain strong. Not as much was they once were, but...” He stopped speaking as Morpheus held up his hand.

“I know how things go, Michael. I've been walking around on this planet and through the minds of men and women since shortly after the Flood. I know you're far older, but forgive me, I think I know how mankind works better than you do.” Morpheus raised his chin, and in his face, Michael could see his long-lost sister. “When this is over, you'll go back to Heaven, along with all the other angels. Meanwhile, mankind will struggle on at the mercy of the demons and Eve's children. But then, most of her children are just like me – trying to survive. Would that all of us knew what moderation was.”

“I cannot understand the children of purgatory any better than I can understand mankind, Morpheus. The lack of emotions is a curse you cannot imagine.” He looked towards the sea. “And, I suppose it is a blessing too.” 

“You wouldn't want emotions, Michael. I've fed off of them long enough to know just how devastating they are; and how they influence mankind.” There was a pause. “We all do things we later regret, Michael. My uncle Ares weeps for the Amazons. In trying to help, he created a race of beings in which all but a handful are guilty of patricide.”

“And yet, Amazons fight some of the more lethal of the denizens of Hell and Purgatory.” He almost laughed. “Some good inside the bad.” He turned back towards him. “Again, with the emotions.”

“Sometimes I wish I was an angel.” Morpheus said it more to the rock and the sea than to him. “And then, there are times when I'm glad I am not.” He looked up, a small smile playing on his lips. “For while emotions are my sustenance, I will always know humans better than any angel can even dare hope too.” He inclined his head and then vanished, leaving Michael alone.

The archangel sighed and looked back towards the maelstrom that had begun to gather above his head. For a brief moment, he considered clearing the sky and calming the ocean; but then, this was the way the world worked. He made sure that Dean was still slumbering peacefully before stepping off the rock and flying towards the coast of Africa.

There were demons to take to task and send back to Hell.


	26. New Divide

Noah carefully packed his carry-on bag, glad that he'd decided to take the train up to Bethel, rather than fly. He would only be gone the weekend, hopefully he'd be back Sunday morning in time for brunch. He still didn't know what exactly he was going to be doing in New York, he just hoped it didn't involve hurting anyone. He stuffed his toiletry kit into the bag and zipped it up. At least the weather was promising for the next few days, both here and in New England. No snow, no ice, no rain – actual decent weather for late March. Granted, it had snowed two feet in Bethel this past week, but there was no more forthcoming, and hopefully, it was the last snowstorm until November.

“Dad?” Wes knocked on the door of his room. “You want me to make you a lunch for the train since I'm putting mine together?”

Noah turned to his son, giving him a lopsided grin. “What's on the menu?”

“Peanut butter and jelly or cheese sandwich, a serving of chips, baby carrots and your choice of fruit from the bowl.” He rubbed his nose. “Since it's Lent, dessert is not available.” 

He laughed. “I'll take the cheese sandwich and one of the Fuji apples.” He smiled. “and a bottle of water.”

“You got it.” Wes paused. “Swiss cheese okay?”

“Swiss is fine.” Noah replied and he watched Wes leave. He knew his son was looking forward to having a weekend with his grandparents. They had come into town yesterday evening and were currently sleeping off their jet lag. He had told his parents he was going to Bethel 'on business' and left it at that. He picked up his bag, double checked to make sure he had turned everything off and headed downstairs. 

“How goes lunch prep?” He asked as he came into the kitchen, setting his bag near the door.

“Almost done.” Wes replied, drying off two apples and setting one in each lunch box. “How long are you going to be in New York?”

“Just for a few days. I should be back late Sunday morning.” Noah filled his travel mug with coffee. “I can trust that you and granddad aren't going to throw any wild parties while I'm gone, right?”

“Daaad.” He rolled his eyes. “Wait, you didn't say that grandma couldn't...”

“Can you picture your grandma throwing a wild party? Ever?” Noah chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

“I know, Dad.” Wes shut the boxes. “You going to be okay on the train?”

Now it was Noah's turn to shake his head. “It's flying I have issues with, Wesley.”

“I just..” He rubbed the back of his head, “you know...”

“Yeah. I know.” He set his mug down and got his coat. “You have everything?”

“Think so.” Wes pulled on his coat and then grabbed his pack and two lunches. “Did you remember to get the bottled water out of the trunk?”

Noah laughed. “Yes. Although I don't think it's going to get get cold enough between now and Sunday for anything to freeze in the car again.” He took the lunch his son handed him.

“That was such a mess.” He replied as they went into the garage. “I still think your car smells like Dr. Pepper.” 

“Well, better soda than something else.” He put his bag into the trunk. “I had a friend in college whose car always reeked of cigarette smoke.”

“That's nasty.” Wes stated as he got into the car.

Noah shut the trunk, opened the garage door and got into the car. “It was sort of amusing when he finally realized how bad it was. He used an entire can of Lysol to try and get rid of the stench before he sold it.”

“What happened then?” He asked as they buckled up and backed out of the driveway.

“Well, he didn't look at the can too closely – he used one that contained bleach.” Noah shook his head as they headed down the street. “And this was on black interior.” 

His son grimaced. “We used bleach to make reverse tie-dye at Scouts. Did he manage to sell the car?”

“I have no idea.” Noah sighed. “It was pretty old to begin with, so he may have just sold it as scrap metal.” He glanced out the window to his right. “The Coulters are moving.” 

“They're the deaf couple, right?” Wes rubbed his nose. “They're nice.”

“Yeah. They're probably off to retire in some place where there's no winter.” He grinned absently. “Their home is almost as old as ours.”

“Ours is older, right?” He started to check his bag for something.

“I think so.” Noah replied as he turned the corner, heading for Wes's school.

*  
Noah slid his bag under his seat, set his lunch next to him and opened his rather battered copy of _The Killer Angels._ He had lost track of how many times he'd read this book. Even though he usually only read it when he flew, it was providing a welcoming distraction to what was going to take place in a dozen or so hours. He'd have gone to Bethel yesterday, but his parents couldn't get into town until then and he wasn't going to leave Wes with a baby-sitter on a school night. His trigonometry students, however, were probably thankful for the fact that he'd canceled their class yesterday. After the rather brutal midterm he'd given them, they deserved an afternoon off. 

*  
Sam kept his face passive as he drove across the state border of Pennsylvania into New York. He'd spent the night in Ohio and had taken off before dawn. It was sort of strange, to be making a trip halfway across the country in the Impala without Dean. He'd not done it since... since before his brother came back from Hell. Oh, there had been the brief time shortly after Lucifer walked free that they had gone their separate ways, but this was different. Odds were, if Dean wasn't currently Michael's meat suit, they wouldn't have stopped at all and just driven all the way to Bethel straight through, stopping only when they had to. He gave an odd smile down at the I-Pod jack currently residing on the dash board. Dean would have a _fit_ if he'd known. Heather had taken one look at it and stated 'oh thank goodness one of you knows what century it is' and then stated that when Dean got back, perhaps they could convince him to come around to liking the device by getting him his own I-Pod loaded with the complete works of 'mullet rock' from AC/DC to Zeppelin. 

Bobby had remained behind in South Dakota with a pile of books that might be helpful stacked on his desk along with a fully charged cell-phone. As much as the hunter had thought he should go, Sam pointed out that if both of them left, anything keeping tabs on the salvage yard would know something was up – and while the house and grounds were heavily warded, they needed to act as if _nothing_ was going on. There was also the fact that what few hunters _might_ be able to come and hold down the fort with Heather, the only one Bobby trusted not gank her for being 'half supernatural' was a man named Garth who was tracking some ghouls in Miami.

Heather was under orders to act as if 'nothing weird was going on' to which the girl had replied 'oh, so it's situation normal?' in a tone that reminded Sam of his brother. She was still recovering from her own angelic possession, and the six inches of height she gained was starting to look like the least of the side effects. She'd told him that her greatest problem seemed to be how slow walking was – and that she was looking forward to the snow melting so she could run. The thing where she knew someone was lying? Sam still didn't know how to explain that. He certainly wasn't expecting it to last. Just like Heather would get used to traveling normally again.

“Where are we?” Castiel's voice was groggy from the backseat. The angel had appeared in the parking lot in Ohio, looking slightly disheveled and confused.

“About five hours from Bethel.” He replied, glancing in the rear-view mirror at the angel. “I do apologize again about my appearance.”

“It's okay.” Sam stretched his neck from side to side. He never slept well in motel beds that tended to be too short for his long frame. “I thought you were done with sleeping.”

“As did I.” He frowned and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. “As much as my grace is returning, I'm starting to feel as if I've neglected my vessel.”

“That's weird, didn't you say that you didn't require things like food and sleep in the beginning?” He hit a button on the I-Pod so it skipped the 'Amazing Grace' that had somehow shown up on it. 

“That is true. This may sound odd, but I'm becoming more aware of Jimmy and his needs.” He leaned back against the seat. “Would it be possible to get something to eat soon?”

“Sure.” Sam checked his watch. “I could use some lunch myself.” He paused. “The food thing – is that why Heather was eating everything in sight the first few days she was back?”

“Yes. Because of her youth, her hunger was a lot stronger than the first time I vacated Jimmy's body. It is one of the reasons that children are... not exactly the ideal vessel for an angel. The only time they are usually possessed is in extreme emergencies.” He cricked his neck. “Which is exactly what happened to Heather.”

“You're not pissed at her anymore, are you?” He said, rather surprised. 

“No.” Castiel frowned. “And yet, you are.” 

“Well, think about it, Cas...” Sam stopped short at the look on the angel's face.

“It was being possessed by Michael or freezing to death by that train track, Samuel. By right, she shouldn't have been there. She should be in Jasper, with her parents and blissfully unaware of what is going on.” His shoulders fell. “I do not mean to be so cruel about it, Sam. But the fact remains that we all must claim part of the situation that led her to do what she did.” 

Sam nodded. “Well, on the plus side of things, she and Michael did uh... take care of a few problems.” He could feel the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and saw that the angel was slowly smiling as well.

“I do imagine that the Whore was quite disturbed to meet Heaven's greatest warrior in the body of a girl barely out of childhood.” He cleared his throat. “If Heather remains aware of what all the two of them did, however, I do not know.”

“Well, when we all get back to South Dakota, you and Dean can ask to see her mason jar of bullets.” He knew he was grinning as he eased the Impala off of the highway. “Pancakes okay with you? I could use some serious breakfast food right now.”

“Pancakes would be fine, Sam.” Castiel replied, settling back into the seat.

*  
Mnemosyne and Gabriel walked side by side along the trail next to Lake Placid. For her part, Mnemosyne was trying not to let her nerves get the better of her. What they were going to attempt was extremely risky; they had all known that from the very start. But it was this or let the planet burn. She understood orders very clearly. She and her brothers had been told to love humanity. This plan was humanity's best shot at lasting another few centuries. She kept her hands in the pockets of her coat, fingering Pestilence's and Death's rings as she did so. Morpheus had already told her what the price for Death's ring was – and she understood that as well. She also wasn't going to mention or warn anyone about it. Maybe, if anything, the action her grandson would have to take in June would let this planet get back in shape, so to speak.

“You're quiet.” Gabriel kept his gaze down at the ground, kicking absently at a ball of slush that had worked its way free from one of the many piles of plowed snow lining the street. “You still think this is going to work?”

“Unless you can come up with a better plan by sundown, yes.” She sighed. “I've had a long time to think about it.”

“Well, it's not that bad of a plan, I will admit.” He chuckled. “A little better thought out than my plan was when I stole Loki's identity.” He paused. “Well, more like borrowed.” 

She scoffed at that. “Borrowing it would mean you intended to give it back one of these days. Given that it's been over ten centuries, I don't think you will.” 

He held his hands out, grinning. “You have me there. But even if I did, what good would it do? The Norse Pantheon is completely gone.”

“That's not true. You know as well as I do that Thor is only classified as missing.” She shrugged. “And for that matter, isn't Sigyn only classified as that also?” She smirked at him. “Unless _you_ know something about that as well.”

“I'll never tell.” Gabriel grinned. “Since you know so much, do you know where the hammer wielding blond barbarian is?”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “I haven't seen him since Ulysses Grant was president. Most likely he's changed his appearance and runs around chasing storms these days.”

The archangel laughed outright at that. “I can see him having a YouTube account and a string of videos that go in depth on tornadoes. Which everyone thinks are faked, because of how close he can get and not die.”

She chuckled. “Something like that, yes.” She sighed, “are you going to go home after this?”

“Just for a little while. Much as I'd love to continue to hang out with you, I think I may have worn out my welcome on Olympus.”

“I'm more than happy to let you stay.” She dodged a mailbox. “I don't mind.”

“I think it's better if I went back to Heaven – just for a few years, at least. Maybe see if I can teach some fledglings to have a sense of humor, because this deadpan thing most of the angels have going on? It's not a good thing in my book.” Gabriel let out a breath. “How much time do we have?”

Mnemosyne checked her watch. “A few hours. What, you want to have lunch?” She frowned. “Seems awfully – wrong, in a manner of speaking.”

“True.” He shrugged. “But just in case we're not making it out of here alive, we should have one last meal.” 

“Now who's the morbid one?” She laughed. “Fine, we'll have something to eat.”

*  
Lucifer rose from his seat in the middle of the warehouse. In a circle around him, were ten camp beds, all with a sleeping woman in them. He would be leaving them here until he returned with Persephone's soul. If her soul wasn't in Elysium, he'd have to search Purgatory and then the Oblivion – but really, were else would the goddess be? The girl's father, if Zeus could be called that, was even more clueless than the average pagan. The only thing that creature had points on was having the common sense not to show up to that hotel in Indiana several months ago. Of course, that was before Arael showed up and revealed herself to him.

When this was all over, he and his sister going to have a nice, quiet talk. Granted, he wasn't ready to admit out loud that she'd been in the right all those years ago when he was trying to get into Eden, she'd only been trying to help. His silly sister thinking she could get him and his brothers to get along by trying to find a way for them all to come to a mutual agreement. Admirable? Maybe. Stupid? Definitely.

Perhaps he'd just kill Apollo and Zeus, get back on her good side and then things could start to get back to how they should be. Persephone would get him into the stronghold of Olympus, of that he had no doubt. It'd make a much better home than Hell, that was certain. Arael's wards on the place would be subverted easily once he was there. She'd been keeping angels and demons alike out of the place – the only way one could come in was if they were brought in by a resident. Well, he and his sister would just have to _discuss_ how things would be run from now on. She'd give him the names of all the remaining pagans – and he'd deal with them soon enough as well.

Pagans were nothing more than toxic waste. 

*  
Claire Novak kept a firm grip on the dog leash as she mounted the stairs of the Arlington Police Station. The notion that by tomorrow, she'd at least be with her family again gave her courage and she glanced down at the greyhound who was trotting faithfully next to her. “It's going to be just fine, Knightly.” She pulled open the heavy door and stepped inside. 

The place smelled of strong coffee and Lysol. It wasn't like police stations she'd seen on TV. All chaos and people screaming. She swallowed and walked up to the desk, where a very harried looking man was signing papers and handing them off to another officer. No one had even noticed her come in. Claire had been certain someone would have told her to take the dog outside by now. Maybe they thought he was a service animal. 

She didn't know what exactly she was going to say to the man at the desk. She decided she'd do what she'd always been told to do if she ever got separated from her parents and needed help. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

The man glanced at her, back at his papers and then his head shot back up, the documents ignored. “Can I help you, sweetie?” His voice was thick with an accent, and Claire honestly didn't mind the term of endearment. The guy probably had kids of his own.

“Hi. My name's Claire Novak. I'm lost.” She smiled awkwardly. “I could use some help.”

The man set down his pen, smiling. “Where are you supposed to be, Claire?”

“Illinois.” She bit her lip. “I um...”

“Wait a second...” He turned to his computer, typed something quickly and then glanced back at her. “Claire Novak of Pontiac, Illinois?”

She nodded. “I um...” 

The man's expression turned serious. “Why don't you and...” He finally noticed the dog. “Your friend go have a seat over there?” He pointed to an empty bench to her left. “I'm going to get my supervisor to help you, all right?”

“Thank you.” She smiled halfheartedly and went over to the bench. Just the act of sitting calmed her and she rubbed Knightly's head as the dog rested it on her leg. “That was the hard part.”

*

Heather shut the chain link gate at the entrance to the salvage yard and locked it. At least she didn't have to walk the half-mile from the main road anymore. It turned out that the former bus driver had been letting off a lot of kids where he wasn't supposed to – forcing her and at least ten other students to walk distances in the arctic weather. Now there was a new driver and he let her off where he was supposed to: right at the drive of the salvage yard. She wagered it was a good thing that the school didn't know about her being hit by the neighbor's car, or the former driver would be in at least twice as much trouble as he currently was. 

The gravel crunched under her boots as she made her way to the house, not looking forward to this weekend at all. She certainly hadn't wanted to go to Bethel, and even if she did, what was she supposed to do there? She kicked the excess snow and rock salt off of her boots and let herself inside. “Hello?” She called out, not really expecting a reply.

“Hey, kid.” Bobby's voice was muffled. “How was school?”

“Fine. I got a hundred on my math test, can I put it on the fridge?” She was being sarcastic – who the hell cared what she got on her tests around here anyway?

“Hell yes!” A door slammed and Bobby came into the kitchen as she was unlacing her boots. “Did you get your report card as well?”

Heather stared at him in utter disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done with Bobby Singer?” Her hand fumbled for the bottle of holy water she knew was on the counter.

“Calm down, kid.” He took the bottle, poured her a shot glass full of water and handed it to her. “I checked that sheet of dates the school sent, I figured I would at least ask.”

She downed the shot, grinning when she was done. “See, another day and no demonic possession. Though I'm starting to wonder if the other girls I go to school with are.” She removed her coat and hung it up on a hook next to the door before going over to the table and opening her backpack.

“What makes you say that?” Bobby asked, incredulously.

“Because they're all starting to become obsessed with this singer called Justin. I listened to him for maybe thirty seconds before I knew he was crap.” She rolled her eyes. “Then again, they also think _Twilight_ is good reading.” She pulled out her report card and handed it to him. “Afraid it's not straight As, but I think I can pull that off for the last quarter.”

He took the report card and scanned it quickly. He raised one eyebrow and smirked. “The lowest grade on here is a B and that's in physical education.” 

She folded her arms. “Well, I was unaware that South Dakota has a mercy rule in basketball.”

He snorted. “Yeah kid, not many states do, but this is one of them.”

“Right. Now watch, I keep playing that sport the way I do and if I'm still here for my sophomore year of high school, the coaches will be _begging_ me to play.” She ran a hand through her hair and gave him a bemused look. “You know I'm right.”

He shook his head and handed the card back to her. “They show you Indiana kids Hoosiers in the maternity ward or something?”

“I wouldn't know. I do know that they start showing us that movie in school about once a year starting in first grade.” She chuckled at the look on Bobby's face. “Hey, odds are they started doing the same with _Miracle_ up in Minnesota after it was released on DVD.”

“Not seen that one.” He replied, folding his arms. “You lock the gate up?”

“Of course.” She replied, taking out her math test and affixing it to the fridge with a magnet. “Although that could be considered a fire hazard.” She leaned against the counter, her arms folded. “Why?”

“Because I'm too worried to bother about cooking dinner and honestly, we need something more substantial than peanut butter and jelly.” He held up a hand before she could protest that she was more than willing to make dinner. “We'll order some delivery and pretend like the world's not in danger of ending tomorrow.” He opened a kitchen drawer and began to rummage through it. “You still not eating meat on Fridays?”

“It's only for one more week.” She paused. “Uh, Mrs. Turabian offered to pick me up and take me to church on Sunday, is that okay?”

Bobby outright laughed at that. “Heather, you really are too much sometimes, you know that?”

Heather picked up her backpack. “I know. But _someone_ has to keep the faith around here. Might as well be me, since I probably can't hunt worth a damn.” She walked out of the kitchen.

“Far as I'm concerned, you don't ever have to hunt!” He called after her. 

*  
Noah set his bag down on the hotel bed and checked the time. He was actually surprised he arrived here before dinner. He rubbed the back of his neck, an uneasy feeling settling over him. He slowly turned and swallowed hard. The angel was back. The body he was in looked terrible. The skin was blotchy, half pink and peeled, the other dead white and scabby. His clothes were stained with – something, he wasn't sure what. He took a step back. “I'm not...I...”

The angel held up his hand. It looked just as bad as his face. “It's all right Noah, you're doing wonderful.” He got an odd look on his face. “You've talked to my brother.”

“Brother?” He thought for a moment. “You mean the angel in the kid?” He frowned. “But that was over a month ago, how?”

“I always know.” The angel smiled, a cold, frightening smile. “The girl's name is Heather. I have a feeling we'll be seeing the two of them very shortly.”

“I'm, not late, am I?” He swallowed. “I was...”

The angel held up his hand again. “Noah, it's fine. Nothing is wrong, you're doing everything right.” He set a slip of paper on the dresser. “Meet me at this location in six hours.”

Noah nodded. “Yes.” 

“Come alone.” He smirked. “Then again, you came here alone. Lying to your parents about what you were doing. So... so unlike you, Noah.”

“I don't think I need to tell my parents what I'm doing, not at my age.” He felt like a kid again, caught doing something naughty and trying to find a way out of trouble.

“Oh, I'm not angry, Noah.” He stepped forward and touched his cheek. His hand was ice cold and Noah had to fight the urge to step back. “Enjoy your dinner. I don't care if you eat meat tonight or not.” 

And with that, the angel was gone.

Noah fell to a sit on the bed, breathing hard. He set a hand on his face, touching the spot where the angel had touched him. He winced in pain and when he drew his hand away, there was blood on his fingers.

*  
“Here they are.” Sam dropped two rings into Mnemosyne's palm. “You really think this is going to work?” 

“If it doesn't, Gabriel will get you out of New York and back to South Dakota. You understand why we can't take you with us to the field, don't you?” She gave him a solemn look.

“Yeah. Don't need Lucifer knowing his true vessel is walking around town.” He gave her a very weak grin. “Truth be told, even with the wards on my ribs, I'm still terrified he'll find me.”

“You'd need to drink some demon blood for that to work.” She glanced at Gabriel. “You two be careful at that warehouse. It's probably crawling with denizens of Hell and you can't go ice them all at once or the gig is going to be up.”

“Oh, I get to play around with them first?” The archangel laughed and went to stand next to Sam. “Come on, Chucklehead, let's go have some fun.” He pushed Castiel towards Mnemosyne. “You two be careful.”

“We will.” She took a breath. “Be careful.”

“Don't worry.” Sam leaned over and hugged Castiel. “It's going to be fine, Cas. We'll all be back in South Dakota by Monday.”

Castiel returned the hug awkwardly. “I wish I shared your optimism, Sam.” He paused. “And.. just in case... tell Heather I wish I shared her faith.” He shook his head. “Crazy girl.” He looked over at Mnemosyne. “She must get that from you.” 

Gabriel led Sam away. “Come on, Jolly Green Giant, there's damsels to be rescued!” A moment later, they vanished. 

Mnemosyne turned to Castiel. “Those two will be fine, don't worry.” 

“It is hard not to worry.” He frowned. “How is Claire?”

“Claire is already in Arlington, Virginia. Odds are, her grandparents, well – aunt and uncle really, but grandparents none the less are already on their way to see her.” She smiled. “Come on, there's no need to stand around here.” 

*  
Michael stepped into the snowfield, trying to imagine how this place must have looked in the summer of nineteen sixty-nine. The Woodstock Festival was a popular memory in Heaven. He'd heard about it, of course. The rain, the mud, the music and the general human insanity. Perhaps it was something that required emotions to understand. What he remembered about that weekend in August was that while this was the site of a celebration of music and youth (and to some extent, drug use), far south of here, a nightmare of a hurricane named Camille swept up from the Gulf Coast, killing hundreds. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, leaning absently against a tree. 

_"Are we hidden?"_ Dean's voice sounded half-awake.

 _"Yes. For now."_ Michael sighed. _I was hoping for less snow._

 _"I'll take snow over mud."_ Dean chuckled. 

_"Point."_ The archangel lifted his chin as he had the vague sense of something approaching. He didn't lean away from where he was standing, but a flicker of movement revealed a shadow skirting along the edges of the field, only to settle and in a wisp of snow, fifty feet away from him. He instinctively knew that it was Mnemosyne and Castiel. He tucked Dean back into the corner of his own mind and settled down to wait for the arrival of his brother and Noah Levin.

*  
“I don't suppose you have a plan for this.” Sam glanced at Gabriel, uncertainly. They were on the roof of a building opposite the large warehouse where the missing women were. He peered over the edge of the roof, looking down and then curling back up out of view. “Because honestly, I didn't think we'd get this far.”

Gabriel snorted and took a look for himself. “Three demons and a pack of hell hounds.” He crouched back down next to the hunter. “Which means there's fifteen of them.”

He swallowed hard. “Explains why there's only three demons. That many hell hounds...” He shuddered. “I don't suppose there's an angelic equivalent to those animals, is there?”

“I think you would know about them if there were.” He frowned. “The trick is not letting Lucifer know we're here.” He checked his watch. “And getting out of here when he finds out Persephone isn't where he thinks she is.”

“Well, if all goes well with the other team, Lucifer isn't coming back.” Sam shrugged, then sensing movement behind him, pulled the gun from inside his jacket and whipped around, only to find himself facing Morpheus. “The hell?”

“What, you think I was going to skip out on you two?” The pagan nestled down by the wall as well. “Sorry I'm late, I needed to eat something before I came.”

Gabriel smirked. “How was Newfoundland?”

“Cold, like it always is this time of the year. But full of hockey worries.” He gave Sam a bemused look and peered over the wall. “That's a lot of dogs.”

“No shit.” Gabriel sighed, and then a wicked grin spread across his face. “I've got an idea.”

*  
The demon walking in front of the warehouse door wasn't exactly in the best of moods. He'd managed to get a decent host, for a change. But apparently being the demon who showed up in the parka meant he was stuck outside with the dogs. They weren't exactly in the best of moods either, and he could tell they were longing for prey. Well, as soon as this was over, they could feast on whichever girls ended up sacrificed. Of course, that would be nine human females for fifteen dogs – he didn't want to be around when the fight broke out for certain body parts. Suddenly, all of the hounds stopped and growled, focusing on a narrow gap between two other warehouses. “Stupid human...” He stepped forward, squinting. “Who's there?”

A man stepped out, appearing to be in his late thirties or early forties, it was hard to tell. He smirked at him, and then glanced to his sides, as if he could see the hounds growling and lying in wait. “Here, doggies!” The man waved something over his head – and the demon caught the scent of beef. He hurled the steak towards them and then let out a sharp whistle and took off. 

Two of the dogs dove for the steak and the remaining thirteen took off after the man. 

“Come back here!” The demon yelled, not surprised when the animals failed to listen. 

One of the remaining hounds bit into the neck of the other, winning the fight over the scrap of meat. The steak was all but forgotten as the hell beast started turning his former pack mate into dinner. The stench of blood and death hung in the air, just as howls of the hunt reached him, followed by a high pitched scream.

“That human is dinner.” The demon chuckled, knowing the dogs would return on their own and then whipped around as he heard someone else approaching. “What the?” He watched as a pagan, he wasn't sure who, walked boldly towards him, half-dragging, half-pushing a much taller human, a knife at the man's throat. “What is this?”

The pagan grinned. “Heard you demons had a price on this guy's head. What, wasn't it slaughter immunity to the being who brought you Sam Winchester?”

The hounds were completely forgotten and the demon grinned. “That it was.” He shot a bolt at the pagan, knocking him flat on the ground, just a few feet from the still feasting hell hound. “But don't expect payment.” He picked up Sam by the hair only to feel pain radiate through him.

“Sorry, I'm not for sale.” The hunter growled and tossed the body to the ground. “Morpheus?”

The god kicked something aside, or so he assumed, judging from the sound. “I'm good. Let's go save some damsels who don't know they're in distress.” He picked up the knife he'd dropped. “You okay? Sorry about the hair pulling there.”

Sam nodded turned towards the direction Gabriel had gone and they could still hear the hell hounds, only now their cries were of distress, rather than anger. “Hopefully, he won't waste time playing with them.”

“I don't think so, he knows the kind of schedule we're on.” The two of them went to the door of the warehouse. “Let's not do anything too fancy.” He pushed the door open, warily. “Oh for Zeus's sake...” They slid into the building, closing the door silently behind them. The single room was lit by a series of rings of candles that bathed the sleeping women in an ethereal glow. “Seriously?” Morpheus whispered.

“AAAHH!” One of the two remaining demons charged out of the shadows, slamming into Sam. 

“Not this shit again.” The two of them rolled, each struggling to be the person on top until they crashed into several pillars of candles, knocking them over, which set off a domino effect with the rest of them. Thinking quickly, he shoved the demon into the spreading flames. The monster howled as Sam stood up, glancing at the beds to find that three of them were now empty. “Fuck.” He saw something move in the shadows and another one of the girls vanished. 

“Move your ass, Carrots!” Morpheus's voice was lost in the sound of flames. 

Sam lunged for the nearest occupied bed, throwing back the covers and picked up the girl – in the flickering flames, he could see that it was Jo. Not even pausing, he tossed her over his shoulder and ran in the direction of the door. The fire already out of control and he had no idea how much longer it would be before the whole place went up. He set his friend down on the sidewalk and ran back inside, in the direction he thought where the beds had been. “Morpheus?” He coughed. “Gabe?” His foot hit something and he almost fell. He reached out, feeling the object next to him and he heard a whimper. “Found you.” He picked up someone – he didn't know who it was, only that she was tiny and probably weighed less than Heather did. He raced back towards the door, his lungs screaming for clean air. He hoped that Morpheus had gotten all of the other girls out, or that the archangel had showed up to help because he definitely wouldn't survive coming back in here a third time.

He burst outside into the cold March air and collapsed next to Jo's body. He dropped the woman on the ground, gulping in the fresh air. He rested his head on the pavement, relishing in the cold concrete. “You're safe now.” He touched each of the girls on the shoulder and then rolled over onto his back, closing his eyes and waited for his breathing to return to normal.

*

The snow crunched under Noah's boots, his feet leaving deep indentations, while the angel left no tracks. The task was apparently quite simple, now that he was here. He wasn't even sure why he had to be here, of all places. There were fields aplenty in Virginia, or even in Maryland. Then again, there were enough military bases surrounding the capitol that something might be observed and after the incident with his flight from Chicago back in December, he was eager to avoid that sort of involvement. 

“We are here, Noah Daniel, because this is where you began.” The angel answered him, giving him a wicked smile. “Or are you still so young that the idea of your conception bothers you?”

He blinked in response. “I will admit, it's not something I ever thought about. I just know that it was at sometime in late in the of summer of nineteen sixty nine, and nine months later, I was left in a hospital in New York City.” He shrugged. 

“What a strange human you are, Noah Levin. You are far more practical than your half-siblings.” The angel smirked. “But that's a story for another day.” 

“Right.” He swallowed as they came to a stop. “What do I need to do, exactly?”

The angel turned a lazy circle. “What do your instincts...” He stopped suddenly. “Well, well, if this hasn't turned into a family reunion.” 

“I don't under...” Noah started to say and fell silent as the angel he'd seen in his kitchen a few weeks ago emerged from the shadows. He wasn't in the body of the girl anymore – he was in that agent from the Middleton Institute. “Wait a minute, I...”

“Hello, Noah.” The angel glanced at him and then at other. “Lucifer.”

“Well, look at you, Michael, in your proper vessel and everything.” He stepped forward. 

Noah honestly hoped that he wasn't standing with his mouth hanging open. _Lucifer? Michael?_ What the hell was going on? It was hard to process as another feeling was overtaking him. It was an odd, warm feeling that started at his ankles and was spreading its way upwards, filling him with a heat that while it was unnatural, was not at all uncomfortable. 

“It should not end this way, brother.” Michael said, his voice sounding strange to Noah after hearing it in the girl's voice. 

“Always the good little soldier, come to kill me, have you?” Lucifer taunted. “Or would you rather just fire a warning shot and wait until I have _my_ proper vessel as well?”

Noah caught movement to his left and saw two more figures emerge from the shadows. One was the angel he'd seen at Christmas in Sioux Falls,the other was – well, he couldn't tell what she was, as her body and her shadow didn't match. Or perhaps that was the trick of the light. He shook his head to clear it, not entirely aware of what the two angels were discussing – or arguing about. 

The third angel took a step towards him just as Noah raised his arms, his hands tingling and swept them through the air. For a great pair of doors had suddenly loomed in front of him and all he knew was that he had to open. He threw them back with the ease of parting curtains and the whole valley became filled with an intense, radiant light.

“At last! Elysium!” A voice cried – Noah thought it was Lucifer, but it was hard to tell. The light was so bright, it seemed to make a sound all on its own. “Persephone!” 

Noah saw a shadow of movement and then, another portal opened up – this one on the ground. If hadn't known better, he would have thought he was looking down into an tornado. Something told him that this gaping maw went directly to Hell. Unlike the first portal, this one _was_ making noise; a horrible, roaring sound that made him cower against the ground.“What have I done? What have I _done_?” He screamed, his voice lost in the din. He registered the word 'Elysium' – was that where the portal he opened up led?

“Arael, is it time?” Someone cried, Noah wasn't certain who. He didn't even know who that was. “Has the hour come?” 

“No.” A woman's voice, it must belong to the being who'd been standing next to the third angel. “It is not.”

What happened next happened so fast, that no one present was entirely sure what happened. The light diminished just enough that Noah could see without squinting. The two portals touched, and energy crackled, releasing lightning into the sky. The ground shook and Lucifer lost his footing, his hand fumbling outwards, trying to catch something that wasn't there – and then the earth itself seemed to buck and tossed him off and into the Hell Pit with the same nonchalance a horse would bat away a fly with its tail. The Elysium Portal shuddered, cracked and then expanded outwards as the hole that swallowed Lucifer closed. 

A scream filled the air, a sound filled with terror, uncertainty and confusion. There was a great groan as several trees uprooted themselves and fell back with muffled crashes. 

“What's happening?” Noah's voice was barely audible above the din.

Another noise, similar to a sonic boom, echoed across the valley and then, it was still and dark. 

Michael looked around, swallowing. Lucifer was gone. Only Mnemosyne was still standing, and she was bleeding from a cut along the side of her face. The others were lying sprawled in the snow, alive, but unconscious. He bent down in the snow and picked up the four rings. He stepped towards his sister. “I will see that these get back to their proper places.” 

She nodded. “Thank you.” 

He tucked the rings into his pocket. “You best get back home to Olympus before you're missed. Odds are, what happened here won't go unnoticed.” With that, he was gone.

Mnemosyne glared at the place where her brother had been a moment ago. “See you in twenty-five years, Mikey.” She stepped back and headed to her home. 

*  
“I don't know if the lack of a phone call is good news or bad news.” Bobby pushed his plate aside, frowning. “You've been quiet ever since you sank into that box of curried shrimp.”

“Sorry.” Heather brushed her bottom lip with a napkin. “I've been trying not to think about what's going on in New York, actually.”

“Any luck with that?” He took a sip from his beer.

“Not really.” She set her bowl on the table next to the couch, and then curled up in her chair. “At least you haven't told me to go to bed.”

“The way you've been sleeping, I figured there was little point.” He shrugged. “How's the room looking?”

Heather shrugged. “I've got most of the stuff scrubbed off the walls. Guess it was a good thing I used pencil, huh?”

“Yeah.” He sighed and set the bottle down. “And I can't be too angry with you. Only one you had to talk to in this house was me, and well, I'm not exactly the easiest person to talk to.” He chuckled weakly. 

She picked up a crab rangoon from the package next to her bowl, pulling it apart and setting half of it in her bowl. “I haven't been my usual sunny self either.” She took a bite of the fried concoction and frowned before speaking again. “Then again, I don't think I've been sunny since the morning after Thanksgiving.” 

Bobby picked up his bowl and chopsticks. “Reminds me, have any of your teachers suggested you talk to the counselor at school?”

She finished her crab rangoon and shook her head. Heather had thought about it a time or two, but she couldn't imagine what good it would do. If she walked in there and told them the truth, she'd probably be branded as a pathological liar. Child Services would probably be called, and she'd be taken from the salvage yard and who knew what would happen to her after that. “No, they haven't. I don't think any of them know about what happened to my mom and dad.” She picked up her own bowl of food. “And it's not like talking about will change anything.”

“Once things are...” He cleared his throat. “Heather, sometimes you act like Dean so much that it's scary.”

*  
The warehouse was completely engulfed. It was an inferno unlike any the younger Winchester had ever seen. Acrid black smoke blotted out the stars and the air was pungent with the Sam stared blankly at the flames, resting his chin on the top of Jo's head, one arm around her, and the other around the small dark haired woman – Olga, he thought. They were the only two he'd managed to get free. He coughed, reality slowly coming back to him as he heard the sound of sirens. 

“What?” Jo's voice was groggy and she hacked once. “Where am I?” She sat up, rubbing her eyes. 

“It's okay, Jo. It's over.” Sam almost didn't recognize his own voice. “It's done.”

She stared at him and then her gaze went towards the fire. She shot a glance at the other woman before speaking again. “Where are the others?”

“Someone else got them.” Was his reply. “I don't know how many of them, but at least five of them got out.”

She shook her head. “I don't.... where the hell are we, Sam?” She frowned. “Where's Dean? Where's my mom?”

“One thing at a time, Jo. We're in New York – close to Woodstock.” He grimaced as the sirens drew nearer. “You okay?”

Jo rubbed her face with her hands, still looking confused. “I've been out of it for... what is today?”

Sam checked his watch. It was one in the morning. “It's the twenty-seventh of March.” He looked down at the still sleeping brown haired girl. “This is... Olga, right?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her arms. “I have a feeling there's one hell of a story behind all of this.”

He nodded. “It can wait until we head back to South Dakota. It's a long drive.”

She snorted. “Yeah.” 

*

Noah sat up, more confused than anything. The first thing that he registered was the cold from the snow and he blinked once or twice, struggling to put things together. He could remember a roar, a scream, and then an explosion. He didn't think he was hurt, or if he was, he was in shock. All three of the angels were gone. He heard a groan nearby and turned in that direction. “Hello?” His voice echoed in the cold March morning. 

“Claire.” The voice cracked halfway through the name, and then there was a fit of coughing. “Claire.” The voice said again. 

Noah staggered to his feet, stumbling towards the man lying a few feet away. “Just stay put, we'll uh... we'll find Claire.”

The man let out a groan that turned into a whine. “Castiel?” 

Noah's legs collapsed under him and he had to drag himself the rest of the way. He assumed his theory about being in shock was correct, because a horrific pain in his left leg was making itself known, as was an even worse pain in his shoulder. “I'm coming.” He finally reached his companion, blinking once or twice. It was the man whom Castiel had been possessing. “Don't move, okay?”

The man spluttered, it was almost a laugh, punctuated by gurgles. “Just a few more minutes, I'll be fine.”

He sat down in the snow next to the man, smiling wanly. “Sure you will, kid.” The moonlight revealed the several cuts on the other man's face – and he had a feeling he had some of his own. “I don't know about you, but I sure as hell am not walking back to town.”

That brought a more certain smile to the man's face. “I feel... so dizzy.” He brought his hand up to rub his face. “And hungry.” He shifted his gaze to Noah. “I'm Jimmy.”

Noah dug his cellphone out of his coat pocket, relieved it had survived whatever the hell just happened. “Nice you meet you Jimmy, I'm Noah.”

“Do you build boats?” Jimmy's gaze shifted to the sky. “I hate boats. Always have.”

“Boats I'm okay with, it's flying I hate.” He breathed a sigh of relief when the phone showed he had a signal. “When they ask, we don't remember what happened.” He stated flatly before dialing nine one one.


	27. Two Thousand Years

The train was blessedly empty for a Saturday. Noah couldn't even think about sleeping, as tired as he was. The idea of putting as much distance between him and Bethel was the only thing he could think about. Next to him, James Novak was eating what had to be his fourth sandwich. Not that Noah blamed him. The man said his last knowledge of there being food in his system was Valentine's Day. Noah was just glad that James was remembering to chew. He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his eyes before opening the bottle of Mountain Dew he'd picked up at the store when they purchased the sandwiches and took a long swing. The rush of sugar helped more than the caffeine. 

Their injuries were all minor; scrapes, bruises and a twisted knee. The two of them had gotten straightened up at a Minute Clinic at a CVS Pharmacy in Woodstock. James was more hungry than hurt, and after a visit to Wal-Mart and returning to Noah's hotel to pick up his things, and put the sandwiches together. Now they were on their way back to Potomac. He wasn't sure how exactly the angel had done it, but James after they'd gotten over the shock of what happened in the field and gotten cleaned up, something in the man's mind came into focus and he knew exactly of the connection the two of them already had.

Noah was rather glad, because he had no idea how James would find his way home otherwise. After being possessed by an angel for nearly two years, the man wasn't exactly thinking straight. Noah felt he could help his cousin more if he was on familiar ground; and New York State was definitely unfamiliar.

“You know you're hungry when this Iron Kid's Bread tastes good.” James said, adjusting his seat and setting the sandwich half down on the tray table. “Or perhaps it's the bologna and cheese singles.”

Noah took another swig of soda. “I imagine if you're hungry enough, just about anything would taste good.” 

“True.” He opened his own drink and took a large gulp. “I think you were smart in telling me to the get the Dr. Pepper. Pepsi would have been too sweet.” He glanced at him. “Although the police station coffee was good too.”

“It was pretty good.” Noah gave him a rueful smile. “Reminds me of the coffee at the department when Alice makes it.”

“What does she teach?” James asked, picking at the sandwich slice. “You still haven't told me what you teach either.”

He screwed the cap back on his bottle of soda. “I teach multivariate calculus, probability and statistics and concepts.”

“Math concepts?” He frowned, his Dr. Pepper halfway to his mouth. “Is that just a basic math class?”

“More or less. It's the easiest math class you can take at Georgetown and it's the one most students take for their general education requirement.” He smirked. “I use it as a learning tool to find out what states are actually teaching kids any form of math these days.”

James chuckled. “And Alice?”

“Alice teaches a concepts class, just like almost all of the department, but she also teaches number theory and history of mathematics.” He held up a hand. “Which is actually pretty amazing. She always has at least four history majors or minors showing up in that class every time it's offered.” He grinned. “She also makes coffee that could double for rocket fuel.”

He smiled ruefully. “So in other words, it's _real_ coffee.”

“Exactly.” Noah shook his head. “I always have a few ambitious students try to take probs and stats for their gen ed, I think it's some sort of bragging rite half the time, like taking two languages in high school.”

James nodded. “I have no idea what I'm going to do now. I seriously doubt my job is still open back in Pontiac.” He tensed up. “I know that Claire was someplace safe, but I have no idea where she is now.”

“Are you sure you don't want to call whoever it was who you went to Bethel with? Sam Winchester, or something?” Noah frowned as he took a drink of soda.

“I would, but the cell that was in my pocket was destroyed.” He winced and rolled his shoulder. “Is it me, or is this train moving slowly?”

“It's you.” He glanced out the window, counting for a moment. “We're going about sixty miles an hour.”

“Well, being possessed by an angel is like being hauled around by a comet.” He picked up his sandwich. “I'll call my aunt and uncle when we get to Maryland. I'll look up their number online.”

Noah took his phone out of his pocket and started punching buttons on it. “Don't need to wait to do that.” He scrolled through a few things. “Who are you looking for and where do they live?”

He put the food down. “Charles and Katherine Darrow – they live in Clayton, Missouri.”

**

Jo rubbed her face. “That's – I can't believe all that, Sam.” 

“I know.” He shook his head. “It's hard to take in all at once, and I'm sorry.” He'd been against telling his friend everything that happened since he last saw her, but Jo insisted. In a way, it sort of felt good. Sam couldn't explain it, but by venting on all the more-than-normal insane hunting incidents, Michael possessing Heather, and Team Humanity's plan, it was as if a great weight was lifted off of his shoulders. 

“Do you know where Dean is?” She shifted in her seat, huddling in the sweatshirt of Sam's that she was using for a coat.

Sam turned the heat up. “No. I imagine that if things went the way they were supposed to, which I suspect they did because Lucifer hasn't shown up, Michael will probably drop him off back in Sioux Falls before too long.”

“Your brother is crazy.” She leaned back. “After he swore he wouldn't say yes to that archangel.”

“I think it was parental instinct.” He sighed. “That's what I keep telling myself anyway.”

“Heather's another matter entirely.” She retorted, flatly.

“I think Heather likes living.” Was his short reply. “It was be possessed or freeze to death. And don't bring her blind faith into this. She grew up in a completely different environment than either of us.” San couldn't believe he was defending the girl over actions that still pissed him off. “And seriously, her blind faith in an angel isn't all that much different than the blind faith Dean used to have in our dad.”

Jo opened her mouth to speak and then her expression changed. “Well, she is also only thirteen.” She coughed as they went across the state line from Ohio into Indiana. “I hope the rest of the girls are safe.”

“Me too.” He gave an errant chuckle. “At least you don't have to explain to authorities where the hell you've been for the past three months.”

“No kidding.” She hugged herself. “Olga seemed to be doing fine when we left.”

“I think knowing that she's safe was her biggest factor in remaining calm.” He grimaced. “You hungry?”

“I could eat, yeah.” She stretched. “I say we get drive-thru just so your brother can find his car smelling of onions whenever he gets back.”

Sam laughed. “Glad to hear you still have a sense of humor, Jo.”

“I try.” She stretched and pulled back the sleeves of the hoodie. “And also, for the record, you are a Sasquatch.”

He snorted. “You're only saying that because you're a foot shorter than I am.” He paused. “Wait, that means Heather's taller than you now.”

“Oh, great.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Can we not talk about her?”

“Sure.” He kept his frown to himself. It was weird, the way Jo was talking about Heather. The two barely knew each other, and yet, it sounded like Jo absolutely hated her. Sure, he was still mad at the girl, but he didn't hate her. He decided he would just shrug it off, figuring that Jo was still in shock. “Burgers and fries then?”

“Absolutely.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “You still want to drive straight through?”

“Only if you have no objections to taking the wheel once we get to Illinois so I can sleep.” He replied, smiling again. It'd be good to get back to South Dakota. 

“Not a problem. I slept for an entire month in a warehouse.” She made a face. “Okay, that sounds fucked up.”

“Well, it's okay.” He didn't want to mention Heather and her lack of sleeping. “Besides, it'll freak Dean out all the more when he gets back.”

*  
“Are you Castiel?” The voice was thickly accented and the angel couldn't place it. He had to lie there for a moment, trying to process what was going on and where he was. He remembered the portals opening and the valley filling with light. He then remembered being pulled out of Jimmy's body – and then, blackness. “Are you Castiel?” The voice repeated itself.

Castiel opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Standing over him was one of the last beings he ever expected to encounter. It was a pagan, half-dressed in silver colored armor, staring at him with very blue eyes. He cleared his throat, trying to place the man and then it came to him. It was Thor – the Norse god who went missing over a century ago. A second glance revealed Mjolnir was hanging from the pagan's belt. “Yes, I am Castiel.” He moved to sit up, surprised when the man offered him an arm to help. Once he was on his feet, he nodded. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He smiled broadly. “Arael said you would be joining me some day. Although how long it has been, I do not know.” 

“Arael?” Castiel stared at him. “Arael is nothing more than an angelic legend.” 

Thor laughed. “Some might say that I am no more than a legend, yet, here I stand.” 

“Is this Elysium then?” He frowned, taking in the room he was in. It wasn't large, the walls the color of butter and the floor was a deep mahogany. There were two sets of double doors, at opposite ends of the room. The nearer ones were open, offering a glimpse of a verandah and then, a green lawn. The only decoration in the room was a large rug, done in reds, blues and greens. 

“That it is.” Thor stepped closer to him and adjusted the collar of the shirt he was wearing. “There, that's better.” 

Castiel frowned and looked down at his attire. He was also half-dressed in armor, like his companion. Whereas Thor's tunic was a dove gray, his was ecru, but they were both trimmed in red. The tunic was unfamiliar, but the armor wasn't. It was his – his vambraces and greaves, as brightly polished as the last time he put them on – before the assault on Hell. “I do not understand what is going on... why am I here?”

Thor smiled, his face reminding the angel of an overeager puppy. “Surely you know that the only ones who come here are the ones meant to be here.” 

“Yes, but that does not...” He stopped as the pagan held up his hand.

“If you are here, Castiel, it means that Arael sent you here. Granted, she should have told you more, but I am guessing there was not enough time.” The smile on his face not fading an iota.

The angel thought for a moment. Arael was an angelic legend, told to fledglings. She was supposed to be the sister of the four first angels – and, since she would bring the number of archangels to five, she was supposedly in the middle. The peacekeeper between the two sides. It was mainly a story to make young angels behave and get along with one another. If it had been Thor's voice who had come out of the portal, then Arael must have been there. “Mnemosyne. She's Arael.” 

“That she is.” Thor chuckled. “I don't know who pulled off the better trick, her or Gabriel.” 

Castiel shook his head. “You asked her if it was time. Time for what?”

“Time for it to end.” He sounded ashamed. “I do not know if I would be glad of it, or sorry to see the day come already.”

“Day?” Castiel was perplexed. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

“The Last Day.” There was a touch of hesitancy in his voice. “You really don't know why you are here?”

“No.” He put as much venom into the word as he could. “And why are you here? You're one...” 

Thor held up his hand. “I am not like many of the others of my pantheon. So few of of us chose to transition onto an alternative method of surviving. My father and brother were fools to feed on humans. I knew it would run them afoul of a hunter eventually. They may not have been dead when I arrived here, but I did my grieving then, because I knew their time was running out.”

“Baldr and Odin were killed by Lucifer.” Castiel said without hesitancy. 

He shook his head. “Like I have stated, Castiel, I have already mourned them. Perhaps someday I shall join them in Valhalla, if that is where they are, but I confess, once they turned humanity into prey, it was hard to watch them become monsters.” He smoothed back his hair. “Now you are here.”

“Are there other angels here?” He absently played with the strap holding one of his vambraces in place. “And how, exactly did...”

“I'll explain what I know in a moment. I must show you something first.” He headed for the pair of closed doors. “Did anyone mention that there was something in Elysium that Lucifer must not get?”

He thought for a moment. “One of the muses, I think it was Erato. What is it?”

Thor pulled the double doors open and Castiel could see it led into a well-lit room. They stepped through the doors – and Castiel felt his breath leave him. He had never seen such a massive enclosed space. He could not see the other end of it, nor any of the side walls. He went up to the ledge and looked down. His hand gripped the railing out of pure instinct, rather than actual fear. The floor was perhaps twelve feet down, but that was not what made him start. 

The room was full of angels.

All of them were still, half kneeling, their heads down, wings curled in such a fashion Castiel felt they were only waiting the order to take to the sky. They all seemed to be listening to something, something he himself couldn't hear. A moment later, all of their heads came up, and they stood, the sound of their boots hitting the stone floor at the same time almost deafening. He became aware of Thor standing next to him – and as they watched, the angels turned and walked out of the room – and into some place out of sight. Not in the same precision in which they rested, but in a relaxed order. He could not make out conversations any more than he could make out details of each angel – but there were so many – more than Castiel could imagine being in one place.

It seemed to take hours for the room to empty. 

When unseen doors slammed shut, Castiel turned around to see if the ones he had come through were still open. He was relieved to see they were, and that's when he noticed that carved above them was the number seven – in a dozen languages. 

“I can see why Lucifer shouldn't get his hands on these angels, but...” He paused. Seven. “How many rooms are there like this, Thor?”

“Twelve. And the rooms grow to allow for more angels to join them.” He let out a breath. “This is the Army, Castiel.” 

“I can see that it's an army...”

“No, it's _the_ Army. The one that will be unleashed on the Final Day to clean out the earth, to save the unjustly damned from Hell, destroy the Fey, return Eve's children to purgatory, and send what is left to the Oblivion.” Thor stated it as plainly and as calmly as if he was pointing out that it was sunny.

Castiel collapsed to the floor and gaped up at him. “That... how...” He frowned. “And we're here because?”

“The Army needs generals, Castiel. Those that are sent here by Arael are the ones chosen. Hades is here as well.” He sat down on the floor with him. “I know, it's a lot to take in.”

“Where... where did they all come from?” If he just knew that, he could work on accepting the rest.

“They were human once – these are the children of mankind who never drew breath. Those who died at birth and died in the womb.” His face grew sad. “Have you never wondered where the babies were in Heaven?”

“I did.” Castiel took a breath. “Is there some place where we can have a drink?”

Thor stood, smiled and hauled him to his feet. “Certainly. For now, I think some rest and relaxation are just what you need.” 

The two of them headed out of the massive room and into the other, the doors shutting on their own behind them.

**

The gravel crunched under Dean's boots as he walked through the salvage yard. Michael had left him near the train tracks, in the place where he was guessing Heather landed a few weeks ago. He had a feeling she'd waded through snow to get to the road. He, on the other hand, walked through mud and patchy snow to clean said mud off. His mind was still trying to process all that happened in the field. He wasn't even sure what to feel. 

Castiel had been drawn into Elysium a second after Lucifer fell back into Hell. 

Dean would have liked to have said good-bye. No, he should have been able to do it. To at least explain why he did what he did. To... oh, he didn't know. Making Castiel understand probably would have taken more time than he had left in his life. But there should have been time to say good bye, to talk about things, to apologize, to do – oh, he didn't know, _something_. It would have been nice if Michael had hung around to make sure Noah and Jimmy were okay, but apparently, with Lucifer back in his cage, there were more pressing matters to attend to. He'd have called when he landed, but his phone was nothing more than a chunk of melted plastic and circuits, destroyed sometime between the beginning of the month and now. 

He stepped onto the porch, smiling at the familiar groan of wood. It was good to be back here. Dean paused and looked around the salvage yard, smiling. The piles of cars, the cottonwood that he and Sammy used to climb when they were little, it was all – it was a hunter's postcard, or something. This was the safe haven he'd always looked forward to visiting. He knocked on the door, hoping that Bobby and Heather were here. He knew that Sam wasn't, the Impala was gone. It was hard to know which one of Bobby's cars was currently working. A face appeared in the glass, and a moment later, the door opened. 

“Dean.” Heather's voice was almost inaudible.

“Hey, Gosalyn.” He stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “It's over.” 

She returned the hug, and he could feel her sigh. “You okay, Darkwing?”

“Yeah.” He winced. “When does the motion problem stop?” 

“Few weeks, at least when you're walking. It's not so bad in a car.” She pulled back and held out a bottle of water to him. 

“Seriously?” He smirked as he took it from her and he saw Bobby standing in the hallway. He chuckled and downed a large swallow of holy water. It was cool and almost calming. He kept a hold on the bottle as he stepped into the house. “Hey.” He grinned. “Am I in time for lunch?”

“Wipe your feet, you idjit.” Was Bobby's reply and he went into the other room. 

Dean chuckled and did as he was told. When he took off his coat, however, he frowned as a shower of spent bullets fell from the space between the outer garment and his sweatshirt. “What the hell?” He looked up to see Heather giving him an amused look. “Did you have this happen?”

“Uh huh. I've got all mine in a mason jar.” She rubbed her nose. “I'm still working on figuring out what all kinds they are.” She went into the library.

“Damn.” He hung up his coat and a few more chunks of metal fell to the ground. “I wonder if Jimmy is going to have this happen as well.” He hung up his coat as Heather came back with a jar. 

“Here.” She handed it to him. “What... who's Jimmy?”

“Jimmy Novak is the name of the man Castiel was possessing.” He bent down on the floor and started to gather the fallen bullets. A moment later, Heather was helping him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Okay as far as I can be, I suppose.” Her face fell. “Wait, you said Castiel _was_ possessing Jimmy?”

Dean nodded solemnly. “Cas... Cas was pulled to Elysium.” 

“I'm sorry.” Heather hugged herself. “I mean...”

“It's not your fault.” He let out a sigh and quickly changed the subject. “Anything happen here? While I was gone?” He dropped a handful of metal into the jar.

“Have a new bus driver and I don't have to walk a half a mile to get on the bus anymore.” She shrugged. “Got my report card, all that typical seventh grade stuff.” She poured her handful of bullets into the jar and stood up. “Sam called. He and Jo should be here late tonight or early tomorrow morning.” She frowned. “Well, whatever you want to call three am.” 

Dean chuckled, put the last of the bullets into the jar and rose. “Ungodly hour, how about that?” He set the jar on the hall table. He staggered a little and caught himself with his hand on the wall. “A few weeks on the walking, you said?”

“Yeah.” She gave him an understanding smile. “If you want, after lunch, we can go play tag, or something that would make you feel better.”

“You think that will work?” He smirked and they made their way through the library towards the kitchen. 

“I've been using gym class as a method to get used to things. It's taken me this long to get back to sleeping more than three hours at night.” They went into the kitchen just as Bobby stirred something in the crock-pot that was giving off an amazing smell. “Which explains why I have a B in that class and not an A.” 

Bobby snickered. “I think that teacher is pissed you didn't go out for the basketball team.” 

“I was six inches shorter when the season started.” Heather snorted and went to the fridge and took out a bag of shredded cheese. “You like taco soup?”

“Don't think I've had it.” He drank another gulp of water. “Smells awesome.”

Heather put the shredded cheese on the table and went to the pantry to get something; corn chips would be Dean's guess. “Well, neither of us could sleep last night so we started looking up recipes.”

He looked from Bobby to her. “You two turn into the Bradys while I was gone?”

“Na.” Heather set a bag of Fritos on the table. “These are the Adventures of Whiskey and Foxface.”

“Foxface?” Dean took the bowls out of the cupboard. “Who calls you that?”

“The kids at school started calling me that.” She shrugged. “Of course, unlike the fictional character, I'd have the sense _not_ to eat the berries.”

“Is this a book thing?” He set the bowls next to the crock-pot.

“Yeah, idjit.” Bobby started to fill the bowls. “You should read 'em too.”

“I'll put it on my list.” Dean set the spoons around on the table as Heather sat down.

“You have a reading list?” Heather gave him an incredulous look.

“Sure I do. I've just never read anything on it.” He took the bowls from Bobby. 

“I find that shockingly easy to believe.” Heather opened up the bag of shredded cheese as Bobby sat down. 

Bobby chuckled. “Eat your lunch, Heather. You can sass Dean after he's back to his usual surly self.”

***  
Claire's aunt and uncle hadn't said a thing about the dog. She was under the impression that they were so glad she was safe and back with them, she could have shown up with a pack of goats and they wouldn't object. They were going to be spending a few days here in Virginia before returning to Missouri. The police kept asking her questions about how she survived the fire and she kept saying she didn't remember. Of course, she'd told the full story to her aunt and uncle, and she still wasn't sure if they believed her or not. They _had_ believed her when she first told them about Castiel, so it was possible. She rubbed Knightly's head, tossing the remote to the TV aside. 

“Nothing on, Claire?” Uncle Charles sat down on the other bed, grunting slightly.

“Not really.” She shifted to sit with her legs folded. “You okay?”

“I'm not as young as I used to be.” He rubbed his knee. “Don't you worry about me, Claire-Bear.” He chuckled. “That's your aunt's job.” He said as she came out of the bathroom, her hair still damp from her shower.

“Honestly, Charles...” She shook her head as her cell phone, which was sitting on the dresser, began to vibrate. She picked it up and answered it without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Aunt Kathy?” 

Claire recognized the voice instantly and her eyes widened – and so did her aunt's. “That's...”

“Jimmy?” The woman's voice cracked. “What, how...” She fumbled with her phone until she had it on speaker.

“I'm all right, Aunt Kathy.” Claire's father let out a worn chuckle. “A few bruises and scrapes, but nothing major.” 

“Dad?” Claire screeched. “Where are you?”

“Claire?” Her dad's voice became strained. “You're there too?”

“Yeah, I'm here...”

“Where are you?” Uncle Charles's voice was oddly calm. 

“I'm in Potomac, Maryland. I'm at...” There was a pause. “I'm at a friend's house.”

Claire saw her aunt and uncle exchange glances and she spoke up again. “Where's Castiel?”

“He's gone.” Her father's voice sounded half sad, half relieved. She didn't know what to make of that.

“Potomac?” Her aunt cleared her throat. “You're in Potomac, Maryland?” 

“Yes...” A pause. “Where are you?”

“Dad, we're in Arlington, Virginia – how close are you to there?” Claire was starting to think this was all an extremely vivid dream. She set a hand on Knightly's head as she heard her dad talk to someone and then spoke again.

“They're about twenty minutes apart – if the traffic is light.” There was a light chuckle in his voice. “It'd probably be better if I came to where you are, my friend, Noah – he knows the area.”

“Noah?” Uncle Charles spoke up. “I didn't know you knew someone by that name, James.”

There was a sound on the phone and then another man's voice was heard. “Hello?”

“Who is this?” Aunt Kathy asked.

“My name is Noah Levin, I'm a professor of mathematics at Georgetown University.” A pause. “And if you don't believe me, you can ask my parents, I can bring them with us.”

Claire let out a sharp gasp and covered her mouth as her aunt and uncle turned to stare at her. Noah Levin. The muses told her about him; and so did Castiel. She gave the two adults a sheepish look just as her father's voice cut through the silence.

“Do you remember who Noah is, Claire?” He sounded as nervous as she felt.

“Yes, dad.” She looked from her aunt to her uncle. “I'll try and explain it to Aunt Kathy and Uncle Charles, but if they don't believe me...”

“Where in Arlington are you?” Noah spoke again. “We can be there within the hour.” 

*  
Bobby's kitchen smelled faintly of lemon scented cleaner and gravy. It was an odd mixture in Sam's mind, and while he supposed it could be considered rather 'homey' this place didn't seem much like home anymore. Maybe it was the fact that it was clean, maybe it was the fact that too much had happened. Whatever it was, he couldn't place it and he couldn't bring himself to get used to it. “Castiel's gone then?” Sam frowned over his beer.

“Yeah.” Dean shook his head and sipped his own bottle of beer. “I'm trying not to think about it, honestly.” He looked Sam over. “Do you know what happened to the other girls?”

“No. I assume they all got out. The only body they found in the warehouse was the demon's.” He rubbed his forehead and then got up, going over to the fridge and taking out a container of leftover pasta. Food would help at this point. “You going to be okay?” He emptied some of the contents into a bowl and stuck it into the microwave. Sam wasn't sure what to make of how his brother was. Being possessed by an archangel – there had to be some sort of residue, or something. 

“I'm okay, Sam.” He let out a breath. “Nothing feels off or wrong, if that's what you're wanting to know. Apart from the walking thing, I'm good.” He turned the jar of bullets over in his hands. “You seen Heather's jar?”

“Yeah. Although knowing her, she'll have figured out how to turn it into an art project before too long.” He took the hot bowl out of the microwave and grabbed a fork. “You want some?” He indicated the food.

“I'm good, Sammy.” Dean yawned. “I suppose the other good thing is, I don't remember much of what happened. I don't think Heather does either.”

“Have you talked with her much?” Sam sat back down and stirred the contents of his bowl before starting to eat it.

“A little.” He shook his head and took another drink of his beer. “I was thinking of leaving for Indiana in a few days. Go see Lisa and Ben.”

“That sounds like a plan.” He stabbed at his food. “Bobby says there's a few cars that are in decent condition if Jo and I want to leave. We just might leave together.” He realized how silly that sounded and saw his brother smile. “What?”

“You're more her type than I am.” He smirked. “I say go for it, Sammy.”

“I doubt we'll actually do it.” He ate a few mouthfuls of pasta. “I want to get some rest and I think Jo just wants to wander for a while.”

“Where would you go, Sammy?” Dean downed the last of his beer.

“As far away from monsters and hunting as I can get.” He stared at his brother. “Is that...”

“I think we've done more than our fair share of hunting.” He smiled. “I think it's time for the two of us to retire. And we can't retire here.” 

**  
Melpomene shifted in her seat at her mother's table, trying to do her best to pretend that the silence in the room wasn't deafening. Deep down, she hadn't expected their plan to work. There had been far to many variables and far to many risks; but yet, it had. She rested her head on her knees, looking across the table at Erato, who was focused on her hands, and then to her son Morpheus, who still looked pensive. Her mother was keeping her gaze into her mug of tea, as if it held all the answers they needed now. Clio rested her elbows on the table, her hands resting on the back of her neck and Urania was leaning on her hand, her gaze unfocused. 

The sound of a door opening in the house caused them all to turn as Terpsichore came into the main room, looked around at all of them and promptly slumped in her chair. She looked as if she hadn't slept in forever and her hair was disheveled. “What day is it?”

“April second.” Clio replied, moving back to her earlier position. “Father lifted our travel ban, but everyone else is still under curfew.” She snorted. “Needless to say, our big brother isn't pleased with that.”

Urania made a noise of disgust. “As if he doesn't have enough things up here to have fun with.” She turned in her chair so she was facing the group. “Maman, are you certain we still can't go over there and forcibly drag our sisters here?”

Mnemosyne let out a resigned sigh. “I am certain, Annie. If such a thing were possible, I would have done it a long time ago.”

Melpomene moved in her seat as Morpheus leaned his head on her shoulder and she hugged him lightly, not missing the look Terpsichore gave her. She rested her chin on his head and cleared her throat. “It's not entirely over. We still need to avoid the remnants of both the armies of Heaven and Hell.”

“I say we petition father to get us out of any deals Apollo makes with demons.” Clio sat up. “It's about time he did his own dirty work.” She snorted. “Or shit, let's just make a petition to stop helping demons period.”

Urania made a noise like a horse. “Anything like that has to be unanimous and the day Calliope agrees with us on something Apollo objects to, well...” 

“She would if she knew...” Cori started to say before their mother interrupted.

“It can't be helped.” She shook her head. “Morpheus, are you feeling all right?”

Next his mother, the boy nodded and Melpomene tightened her hold on him. She knew what her sister was talking about. 

“We should do something to get our minds of this.” Erato straightened up in her chair and looked around at their stunned faces. “I mean, we're getting to live. The world's not ending. Shouldn't we be, I don't know, _happy_ about that?”

There was a round of chuckling before Melpomene answered her. “We should.” She gave her son a small smile as he sat up straight. “We might as well celebrate a little.”

“I say we play confessions.” Terpsichore sat up, grinning. “Clio, what's the big secret of _Lost_?” 

The muse of history looked taken aback. “Why would I know that?” Her smile betrayed her attempt at cover.

“Because J.J. Abrams is one of your darlings.” Erato put in. “Fess up.”

Clio threw up her arms and grinned. “They're all in Purgatory and the polar bears are nothing but bullshit!”

“Oh that's brilliant!” Morpheus sat up, grinning. “Aunt Annie, who's River Song?”

The muse of astronomy beamed, as if she'd been longing to give the answer for ages. “Amy and Rory's daughter!” She threw up her arms. “And the Doctor's wife!” She rounded on Erato. “Vampires are almost done, what's the next big thing in romance?”

“Angels.” She rolled her eyes. “Duh.” 

The muse of dance grinned and spoke up. “Penny, who's going to win the Game of Thrones?”

Melpomene folded her arms and smirked. “That's not been determined yet.” 

“Either that or you're just not telling us.” Mnemosyne put in, grinning. The tension in the room had eased greatly. “Penny, Morpheus just reminded me of something – you said you met that Moffat fellow that Annie did. What on earth did you put into his head?”

“Oh, just a modern version of _Sherlock Holmes_.” She waved her hand dismissively. The less they talked about the events of the past few months, the better in her opinion. She didn't want to think about any of it right now. About angels, about demons, about the Winchesters, and much to her shame, about Heather. Heather would be fine, just as Nathan and Noah would be.

**  
Heather hugged Dean tightly, trying not to think about the fact that he was leaving again. “Drive carefully.”

“I always do, Gosalyn.” He hugged her and pulled back. “And we'll all be back here for the Fourth of July.” He tapped his fingers on the trunk of the Impala. “I've left most of the weapons here with Bobby. They're safer here than they are with me. Don't let anyone steal the Colt and don't do any freelance target practice. At least, not until you take a gun safety course.”

“Already signed up for it.” Heather grinned. “It starts next Saturday.”

Dean chuckled. “Now, I don't think I need to tell you to behave yourself and all that nonsense, right?”

“Right.” She shouldered her backpack. “Do you know where Sam and Jo went?”

His expression changed, ever so slightly. “I think they went South.” He pulled a smile. “Don't worry, they can take care of themselves.”

“Right.” She gave him an identical smile and turned as she heard the bus approaching. “I better hurry.”

He gave her another quick hug. “Be good.”

“You too.” She waved and ran for the road, arriving there just as bus came within sight. When it stopped, she got on and glanced back once at Dean, standing next to the Impala, talking on his phone. Most likely to Sam. She went and sat down in her usual seat on the bus, her head against the window.

The snow was almost completely melted, turning what had been fields of white into fields of mud. It was as if Mother Nature suddenly remembered that it was springtime in South Dakota, and green overtook winter brown. Crocuses and daffodils appeared almost overnight and the bitter wind slowly began to warm. She was even starting to think about summer, despite the fact that it was only April. Due to the number of snow days the school had taken (a grand total of twenty-two of them) she wouldn't be done with the year until June tenth. She wouldn't have cared if school had gone on to the twenty-fourth. She was just happy that there _was_ a school year to finish and a summer to look forward to.

Of course, the only other person in her class who knew just how lucky all of them were was Nate. However, his mind had turned to soccer, and was taking out his stress on the field and spending time with his friends. 

Heather hadn't really had any inclination to make any friends with her classmates. After what happened back in November, she was far to wary of doing so. Even though she knew very well that she didn't have to worry about some demon sacrificing her to raise Famine, she just wasn't ready to make that leap any time soon. 

The bus turned around on side road and headed back the way it had come from. When she looked out the window, she saw the Impala leave the drive and head in the opposite direction.

Heather had an uneasy feeling that she wouldn't be seeing it again for a long time.


End file.
